


{{ Let Me Lay Waste To Thee }}

by Authoress



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: ALL HAIL THE MAD KING, F/M, M/M, PISS BOOOTTTSS, Royalty AU, accidental caleb/lindsay but im goin with it, accidental formal speech but im goin with it, b/c you cant go wrong with dragons, beware of endermen, edgar is not a cow, even gavin is cool, everyone sleeps with ryan at some point, geoff is so done with everything, im kinda making this up as i go along, inspired by mallius, jack is the only smart one, michael is royal and proper but not when gavin is around, minecraft au, now with added dragons, people die idk, ryan is batshit insane but ray's not much better, the kings are all epic, the nether is technically hell, this isnt game of thrones but the ramseys raise spiderwolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoress/pseuds/Authoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Hell is empty—all the devils are here)</p><p>It seemed to Caleb that the darkness lurking below and within the kingdoms, just out of view, was determined to possess the throne and destroy everything they held dear. He had thought that his hard-won peace would last.<br/>But then again, he had dangerously underestimated the four rising kings.</p><p>(Blood begets blood, and the crown sings for it—can you resist?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue I: Winter's End

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to wait to post this until I finished the first chapter, but you know. Couldn't resist. This entire AU is inspired by the artwork of mallius.tumblr.com, please go look at her Royalty AU if you haven't! It's incredible. This is gonna be a long, long fic, if I can keep up my motivation to finish it, so be prepared.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have done no research into anything for this fic and don't plan to, so there may be inaccuracies in...whatever.
> 
> Note: My moirail pointed this out, so I'll make it clear. The kings in this prologue are not the wonderful AH crew, but their fathers. Everything will make sense in time.

Caleb was beyond furious, and determined to make the world aware of his displeasure.  
  
His steps echoed like rolling thunder down the marble halls, smooth red cloak billowing behind him with the fast clip at which he was walking. The sharp sound of his boots hitting the stone was the only thing keeping him from absolutely losing his mind. Down the hall decorated with ceremonial swords. Down the hall decorated with royal sigils. Down the hall decorated with portraits of past kings, their wise gazes trailing after Caleb. _Wisdom,_ Caleb thought, _would have been useful twelve years ago._ He gritted his teeth and his face unconsciously curled into a snarl as he reached the door at the end of the hall.  
  
His arrival was announced with a resounding _bang_ as he slammed open the doors with as much brute force as possible, startling the room's occupants into silence. Blissful, temporary, silence. The room itself was little more than a raised veranda with an open air view of the natural beauty of Caleb's domain. The Green Mountains arched magnificently in the foreground, the wispy trails of water vapor rising off of several waterfalls, and in even closer to the veranda, one could see the golden Monolith, surrounded by the day's offerings. The view had been intended to calm visitors when they met, but also remind them of their duty to the people and the gods.  
  
Of course, Caleb could see the Altar, faint in the background, and he was reminded of his purpose. He fixed his sharp eyes on the three men, staring him down in varying stages of preparation to brawl. The Red King was leaning over the central table, dagger imbedded in the lovely finish of the wood, while The Sun King's hand rested on his scabbard, readying to draw the sword he was absolutely forbidden to have (as was the dagger, now that Caleb thought about it), and The Ice King was frozen in the act of picking at his teeth, boots kicked up onto the table. They had halted their conversation and actions, but Caleb could tell they were fully prepared to reengage in their scuffling the moment he turned his back. Caleb saw red.  
  
"Ma-Mayor Denecour! We were informed that you would not be returning from the Altar for another two days!" The Ice King choked out. As if realizing his position, the handsome blonde king removed his feet from the table, standing up and nodding once with respect. The Red and Sun Kings followed suit, straightening up, jaw muscles working. The Red King, however, did not remove his dagger, even when Caleb stared pointedly at it. There was a beat of silence, and then, noticing how the other two kings were still hungering for each other's blood, The Ice King attempted to be welcoming, "There's still ice on your cloak, Mayor, here let m-"  
  
"Silence," Caleb ordered in a frigid, authoritative voice that instantly earned him the full attention of the three kings. Caleb took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes. Attempted to quell the boiling rage in his chest. He opened his eyes once more, and stepped lightly to the balcony overlooking his city. Brushed his fingers against the dark iron, bent into artful designs, a beautiful warning to keep away from the edge. "You're paying for that," he ordered icily, not naming any of the three present, but also making it perfectly clear to whom he was referring. The Red King parted his lips to speak, but Caleb was quicker, spinning on his heel.  
  
"I said, _silence_ ," he growled again, meeting the eyes of each one of his guests, noting how they did not look away. "You come into my home, humbly invited by myself to sort out your differences." A step forward. "You ignore my rules, set in place to protect you." Step. "You disrespect the holiness my city, acting out like children in front of the Monolith." Step. "You dig your filthy weapon of war, stained with the bloodshed of lives taken, into my property, made from the wood of a magnificent oak, a daughter of the gods felled only with their divine approval." Step. "You disregard my authority, simply because I am a proponent of peace!" He was now nose to nose with The Red King, eyes alight with all the repressed anger raging like a typhoon inside of him. When he speaks again, it is not a shout, but a whisper, lower and more deadly than any war cry: _"How dare you."_  
  
"How dare all of you," he continues, stepping away from The Red King, cloak whipping around him as he paced restlessly. "This room was not built for you to privately brawl like drunkards in a bar on a summer's night. My father's father, or his father before him built this room— _this entire castle_ —to allow for kings to peaceably settle their disputes by removing them from their war hungry kingdoms. The laws of this country forbid violence so that this place may be a center of trade, of worship, of _peacemaking_. Who are you to be disregarding the rules of a country set down hundreds, nay, _thousands_ of years ago, by wiser men than you? Kings? All I see are foolish boys."  
  
The kings start at that, each with their own outraged grumble, but Caleb holds up a hand, silencing them again. "Here, you are not kings. You are not royalty to act like damned brats here. There are no nursemaids here to pick up after your mistakes." He slams a hand against a wall. "Here, you are my guests. You are representatives of your countries, here to orderly arrange the end to a war that should never have started in the first place."  
  
The Sun King shifts and frowns. "You could hardly have expected me to leave my sword behind, knowing I was meeting this madman. Besides, this war was not started for not-"  
  
"A small matter of land and pride does not justify a twelve year war, Ramsey," Caleb snarls. The Sun and Red Kings glare at each other while the Ice King lets out a soft sigh and looks away from them. Caleb's sharp eyes track every movement, every detail of their body language. "Do not think that you are not at fault, too, Haywood. You stood by and benefitted from selling weaponry to the common people and the tribes under their rule. There are no innocents in this room. Myself included."  
  
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Gentlemen, sit down. I have dire news." The three kings, still seething from their chastising, throw themselves into their chairs with a little more force than is necessary. Caleb glances out at the Monolith, hoping that its powerful golden glow will somehow give him the strength to go on. _Oh gods, lend me your wells of patience,_ he prays. Turning fully to face the assembled, he folds his arms behind his back. "As you know, I was not present for your welcoming, as I must to the Altar with the full moon. I came to the snow covered steps of that holy place with no heavier burdens on my mind than the constant war. But I did not leave that light-hearted. The gods spoke to me, in the whirl of sleet, the hiss of pine branches brushing, and the silence that echoed through the usually so welcoming Altar. They are furious with you. They tell me they have sent signs through animals, through weather, through dreams, and yet you do not respond."  
  
Caleb glares at The Ice King. "The dead rabbits, Haywood. You saw a field of dead rabbits, killed not by predator, nor by dearth of sustenance. But you did not shut down the arms dealing of nearby towns." His gaze moves to The Sun King. "And Ramsey, you faced a freak blizzard during the Eighth March on the West, do you not remember that? Did it not occur to you that it may have been a sign?" He turns his gaze once more to rest on the bespectacled Red King. "But out of everyone, I am most disappointed in you, Narvaez. Your wife was tormented by dreams of death and destruction, and you simply dismissed her dreams as the foolish fantasies of a woman, when in fact it is you who are the fool."  
  
By this time, none of the kings could meet Caleb's eyes. "I returned as fast as I could, carrying the ire of the gods in my breast. And I find you like this. I speak for the divine when I say I am disgusted." He lets that sink in for a moment before raising his chin. "Therefore, I will do what I should have done many years ago. I will intervene."  
  
He pulls the scroll from its safe place tucked in his waterproof bag, and lays it onto the table, rolling it out to reveal the declaration. "I, Caleb Denecour, having witnessed the slow degradation of the stability of the kingdoms, do claim my gods-given right to intervene on their behalf." The kings' attention is fixed to Caleb as he continues. "Lord Ramsey, The Sun King of the Kingdom of the North; Lord Narvaez, The Red King of the Kingdom of the West; and Lord Haywood, The Ice King of the Kingdom of the South: I hereby decree that you are to raise your firstborn son here, in the Neutral Country, Achievement City, until the youngest of the three comes of age, as to foster a sense of camaraderie between the three, and avoid the kind of catastrophic war you three have brought about under your reigns."  
  
Before Caleb even finishes, the kings are up on their feet, shouting statements of refusal.  
  
"That is entirely unfair!"  
  
"This is not a treaty--it is an act of false superiority!"  
  
"You don't have the right!"  
  
" _On the contrary_ ," Caleb hisses through gritted teeth. "This is my one and only right. The right to overrule the three kingdoms if they have fallen too far to see reason and enact a peace that will save their domains. You will do," he orders sharply, "as I say, or you will face the consequences of your actions."  
  
The Red King bares his teeth. "Oh yes, please, tell us the penalty we will face, and while you’re at it, enlighten us of our crimes. Have we stood on a piece of carpet wrong now? Or was it that we didn't gaze long enough upon the Monolith? Tell us, O mighty Mayor!"  
  
Caleb's expression goes smooth and hostile, a falcon honing in on its prey. "Bringing a dagger into my domain alone will earn you a hefty, hefty fine. Actually using it will earn you time incarcerated. But even more important than that, you will have defied my divine decree, blessed by the gods. That is treason, and punishable by death. And do not forget, Lord Narvaez, that you signed an agreement—as have the other two—to obey the decrees given to me by the gods."  
  
The Red King looks appropriately pale in contrast to his royal hubris just moments ago. As do the other kings. Caleb has succeeded in threatening them, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The stress from being this unusually hostile is starting to wear on him. "Come now," he murmurs. "This is not the end of all you know. You've had your war—let peace come. Do not fight it. Enough of your people have died. Let it go. Think of this treaty as ensuring prosperity for your children. They will live longer, have happier lives, if they do not build on their father's battles. Come now. Sign, and set the gods at ease."  
  
The three hesitate once more, glancing from each other to Caleb and back. Caleb knows this is not easy for them. They are powerful men, experienced men, and they do not take kindly to taking orders. But, Caleb thinks, they are not foolish enough to defy him. He has not lost them that much.  
  
The Red King is the first to take up the quill. He dips the tip in ink delicately, and slices out a signature across the parchment. The Ice King follows, his signature light as falling snow. Finally The Sun King stands, stares down at Caleb once more, and roughly scratches his signature into the parchment. "I pray you know what you are doing, Denecour," he murmurs, his voice low and full of implication. The three do not linger any longer in the meeting room, and stroll out purposefully, still exchanging steely glances. The Red King pauses only to retrieve his dagger.  
  
Caleb waits until the last echoes of footfalls have faded from his hearing and memory. Then, he promptly collapses into a chair, fingers dragging and pulling at his hair. He scrubs his hand down his face and stares forlornly out at the Green Mountains. The peace is won, but not without a cost. There is no love yet between the three kingdoms, and Caleb has earned their spite. Should Achievement City be in dire need of assistance... Well, there's nothing to be done moping about it and doing nothing. Caleb sinks to his knees on the marble, facing the Monolith. He closes his eyes and raises his hands, his right to press over his heart, and the left resting on his face, thumb and index finger along the length of his nose to his hairline.  
  
He bows his head slightly and begins to pray. "Gods of peace, be with us. Gods of strength, lend me your arms. Gods of honor, guide the kings to justness. Gods of prosperity and brotherhood, whisper in the ears of their firstborn. Heavenly guardians, the Monolith is my witness: I am but your humble servant, and I beg of you, give aid to me." Caleb remains, bent over slightly in subservience, praying with every fiber of his being that he has made the right choice.  
  
"This is not the end, gentle Caleb."  
  
A voice from the shadows, soft and melodic, touches Caleb. He breathes out in relief and surprise. "Lady Tuggey. You always make to surprise me." Caleb turns to the open doors, a soft smile on his face.  
  
From the shadows of the hallway, a beautiful woman steps into the room, with a matching smile. She curtsies, and approaches Caleb, the black and white fabric of her elegant dress rippling soothingly.  
  
"Please," Caleb murmurs, "there's no need for such formality here. I may be of important political standing, but you too are quite the goddess."  
  
The woman offers a hand to help Caleb up, which he graciously accepts. She laughs a little. "Well then, I insist you call me Lindsay. We are nothing if not old friends." The two settle down into chairs and gaze off into the distance, a companionable silence between them. Caleb regrets that he must break it.  
  
"'This is not the end'."  
  
Lady Tuggey's eyes cloud over with sorrow. "Just the beginning, I'm afraid. This peace will last for a time, but you are only delaying the inevitable. A dark plague haunts these kingdoms, Caleb. A decree may stave off the bloodlust and madness of men for a while, but how long until they start testing the limits, searching for a weak spot?"  
  
Caleb looks at his hands, folded neatly in his hands. "I have tried to look ahead, as you do. I had hoped peace could be brokered through an alliance of their children."  
  
Lady Tuggey gives the smallest shake of her head. "Your efforts, noble and well-thought out as they were, will ultimately prove ineffective." She reaches a hand to cover Caleb's. "You are so brave, my dear friend. But not even the gods could prevent what is to come. Even gods cannot silence the hunger for chaos that lurks in the hearts of man."  
  
Caleb nods at that, knowing she is right. Lindsay is always right. He grasps her hand gently, but frowns when he feels a slight tremble. His eyes flick to her with concern. "Lindsay?"  
  
She pulls her hand back quickly, another stormy expression on her face. "I do not wish to trouble you with my Sight, old friend," she whispers. Caleb moves closer to her.  
  
"Share, Lindsay. Some burdens should not be carried alone."  
  
He sees the flash of a smile. "Some burdens were taken on by choice." But she looks contemplative anyway. "It's not...easy...to explain to one without my Sight. Where shards of glass once were, giving me insight into what is to come, I see..." Her eyebrows pull tighter together. "It's like ink in the water. What was once transparent is now cloudy. For something to affect even my Sight..."  
  
She looks up at Caleb, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "There is a great and terrible darkness that clouds my view. It will come, and no one can stop it. Not even the gods. I fear for the children of these kings. They will bear the burden of facing this darkness. And all you and I can do is pray."  
  
Caleb lets himself breathe once more. "That is not all, Lindsay. You may not be able to see, but you are still infinitely wiser than any of the kings or I. You can guide them, as I will try to do. We can help them, prevent them from turning dark, instill the treasured values of the gods in them when they are still young."  
  
Lindsay's smile returns and she stands, pulling Caleb up with her. "As always, Caleb, you remind me of the good in the world. I knew it would not be a mistake to visit you again. Unfortunately, we will not see each other for a long time."  
  
Caleb glances to the East. "You must return to those mountains?"  
  
Lindsay nods. "I am not welcome in the kingdoms. But even more so than that, there is someone waiting for me. Someone who will play a role in the future of the kingdoms. My destiny is intertwined with the Realm of The Mountain Gods. Oh, but Caleb, remember--" She leans close to him and whispers into his ear, before backing away.  
  
She curtsies once more and steps toward the balcony. "Until our futures collide once more, Mayor Denecour," she laughs.  
  
Caleb returns the laugh with a bow. "Until then, Lady Tuggey."  
  
And with that greeting, Lady Tuggey hops over the edge of the balcony, and into the waiting arms of one of her many companions. The purple eyed creature eyes Caleb for a moment, and he is careful not to look it in the eye. And then the Enderman is gone, taking Lady Tuggey with it.  
  
Caleb spends several minutes longer staring into the now darkening sky and turning Lady Tuggey's words over in his head.  
  
 ** _"People tell stories of spectres and beasts from beyond the Nether, but they forget that true monsters walk among them — mortal men hungry for blood and power."_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolded text is not my own writing--I could never come up with something so lovely :'D


	2. Prologue II: Spring Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the princes grow up and together, intertwining their fates in ways they could never imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use Mogar and Michael interchangeably, they both refer to the same person.

_**\--20 Years Later--** _

 

"Gods above, but you are slow!"  
  
"Shut up! I cannot be faulted for Grisham being unusually under the weather today!"  
  
"Oh, and I'm sure those extra carrots you sneak out to him every night have _nothing_ to do with it, right Gavin?"  
  
"..."  
  
"Fucking got 'em! Nice!"  
  
"Come now, Ray, he set himself up for that one."  
  
"...You guys are all rubbish. Why do I hang out with you, again?"  
  
"Literally no one else in Achievement City can tolerate the nonsense that spills from your gob, Gavin."  
  
"Ryan? You too? I thought you were on my side!"  
  
"I am on whatever side is the winning side, Gavin, and unfortunately for you, today is not your day."  
  
"Oh for the gods' sake, we shouldn't even be racing in the Royal Gardens in the first place."  
  
"Jack, if I am not mistaken, you agreed whole heartedly to the idea several hours ago."  
  
"Yeah, well..."  
  
The soft babble of a number of voices and the accompanying clopping of their horses radiated through the gardens. The band of five young men came into view, trotting on horseback under the cover of some enormous, exotic flowering trees. The sandy blonde atop the horse Grisham wrinkled his nose in an effort to stave off a sneeze from the flower pollen, and failed miserably. His companion and main tormentor grinned and giggled. "You sneeze like a helpless baby animal, Gavin."  
  
Gavin sniffed and looked offended. "I do not! My sneeze is full of...virility, manly stuff, and what not. You giggle like a...like a gossiping princess, Geoff."  
  
Geoff rolled his eyes. "Excellent comeback, as usual, Gavin. Perhaps one day the gods will return to you the wit they stole from you when you were but a whelp wailing in the arms of your mother."  
  
The handsome blonde on the dappled yearling pulled up on Gavin's other side, a conspiring grin to match the eldest of their group. "Come now, Geoff. Lay off the lad just a smidgeon, wouldn't you? There's a gentleman." Noting the hopeful expression of the green-eyed man between them, Ryan lifted his chin and turned away, smothering the laughter building in his chest. "Awful cruel to give him hope when he hasn't ever had a single mite of intelligence in that head of his."

"Ryan you filthy traitor!" Gavin took off after Ryan and Geoff, already cantering past rows of roses and hibiscus, whooping with laughter and nearly giving the poor, elderly gardener a heart attack. The remaining pair watched on at the childish antics of their mutual friends at an easy walk, their horses’ ears flicking every now and then in the comfortable heat. The man with red stubble turned to the youngest of the group.  
  
"Perhaps we should catch up with them, Ray. Too much horseplay and Gavin'll end up with a broken arm. Again. Besides, can't let them have the spotlight _today_ , now, can we?"  
  
Ray huffed out a small chuckle and nodded once. "Caleb did scold you a bit last time, didn't he, Jack? Honestly, it's like he expects you to be our nursemaid."  
  
Jack snorts. "Aye, indeed he does. I'm the only one who can keep you royal hooligans in one piece. Gods know Gavin won't be of any assistance."  
  
Ray gestures ahead of him with a slight bow. "After you, my good sir."  
  
"Kindly as always, Lord Prince," Jack replies, tipping an invisible hat. With shared smiles, they trot over to where the other men are jumping their horses over small statues, much to the horror of the gardening staff. Gavin guides Grisham over an admittedly impressive tall fountain with a holler of triumph. When Geoff attempts the same jump, his horse refuses with an elegant shake of its head. On the sidelines, Ryan snickers, stroking a hand along his own steed.

“What was that about Grisham being fat and old, now, Geoff? Come, let’s hear about how wonderful Mystery is, go ahead.” Gavin calls, chest puffed out, victorious.

Geoff flicks him off and shakes his head. “Grisham’s a fucking machine. No fear at all! But gods damn you and your ancestors for making that jump, that was complete and utter insanity.”  
  
Ray sighs and pulls up alongside Geoff. "You ought not to speak of the gods like that, Geoff. Caleb's not known for his corporeal punishment, but I'm sure he'd tan your hide for speaking so carelessly about the divine, even if you are a prince."  
  
Geoff throws his head back with a boom of laughter and smacks his hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "Oh, come now, Ray, don't be so uptight. It's _your_ day, after all. Live a little, my friend. Caleb will not bother us today with his religious babble."  
  
Ray grins back at Geoff. "Look at you, so full of yourself. I cannot wait to see the look on your face as Caleb gives you a tongue-lashing." His voice is laid back and amused.  
  
“Nonsense!” Geoff replies. “We’re going to terrorize a few more commoners by leaping over valuable art pieces, get banned from these gardens for a month, and then go out for drinks tonight. I cannot see where Caleb would fit into any of those plans. Besides, when I become king, I have no intention of obeying every word out of Caleb’s mouth: why start now?”  
  
Ryan and Jack rolled their eyes simultaneously at Geoff's arrogance. The blonde spoke up. "'When I become king', oh for the gods' sake, Geoff, you're hardly into your thirties. Do you expect your father to die so soon?"  
  
Geoff shrugs and turns back around, guiding his horse to step onto the path leading out of the gardens, much to the relief of the gardening staff. "Have to be prepared for anything, huh, Ryan? Get my priorities straight." He grins at the four men behind him, and is rewarded with tolerant smiles from each one. Geoff knows these men well. These are the men he was raised alongside; these are the men he would ride into battle for. Although the circumstances of their childhood were dictated by law and not their parents' choice, Geoff allowed himself a moment to be grateful to Caleb, contrary to his earlier dismissal. Without the intervention of the Mayor, he would have never come to love and befriend these men he has the honor of calling companions.  
  
Jack is his oldest friend. They met and hit off before Geoff's father could even introduce him to Ryan. Jack’s easy going personality meshed well with Geoff’s, and his overly organized nature made him enjoyable to torment. He might not have been royalty, but Jack was not just the son of a blacksmith, either. The ideas in his mind, when they found their way to paper, were spiraling cathedrals and glorious monuments, incredible architectural feats that Jack had simply...imagined. Geoff could not describe the wave of relief and joy that flooded his body when his parents agreed to pay for Jack's continued education in the North, after much pleading on Geoff’s part. To waste such an inventive mind would be an enormous shame, Geoff believed.  
  
Ryan, the first prince Geoff had ever met, befriended him in an altogether different way. Truth be told, Geoff had only tolerated Ryan’s presence to be polite and please his father, not over any feelings of brotherhood. But Ryan wormed his way into Geoff’s heart through his subtle snark, his elegant and skillful swordplay, and the endless wealth of information he kept locked in his mind. Ryan was almost frighteningly sharp and ruthless with his wit, as Geoff had come to realize most Southerners were. Every time Geoff met the icy eyes of his second-oldest companion, Geoff was reminded of the eternally frozen landscape from which he hailed, but also of the way Ryan could so easily read his battle plans with a glance and fall into step with him in a heartbeat. If there was going to be a fight, Geoff wanted Ryan solid at his back.  
  
Ray was the other prince, but far less regal than Ryan in manner. He was different, but intriguing; the paragon of culture differences between the kingdoms. Ray spoke with simple speech more often than not, and was more inclined to engage in physical scuffles than Ryan. Nevertheless, he proved the regality of his birth when in the presence of a figure of authority. He could speak with the smooth, lyrical tongue of the Western people, and his fencing skills with the thinner swords could not be matched by anyone, not even the other two princes. He took his combative training so seriously, but at the same time, could always spare a moment for pranks and fooling around. It took no time at all for the three to welcome Ray into their circle, friendly and talented as he was.  
  
Gavin, though--the last of their group--was nothing but trouble. Son of a minor royal, perhaps, but an idiot daydreamer with no apparent aspirations. Geoff hadn’t met Gavin—Gavin met him. And pestered the rest of the group until they were cursing him under the name of every god they knew, demanding he just shut up already, gods above. Gavin never relented, never ceased in his harassment, even when he was squealing as Geoff beat the shit out of him, or when Ray chased him down with one of his rapiers. The dumb puppy look eventually got to Geoff, and he took the little rascal under his wing, finding that the others took a shine to him almost immediately. Gavin was perhaps the most puzzling addition to their group—but also the most beloved.  
  
Geoff felt, with a sudden ache in his chest, sorrow that they would not be able to waste any more of their years screwing around together. Responsibility would come for them tomorrow, and they would part ways. Geoff actually had the best end of the deal—he would be returning with Gavin as a squire and with Jack attending school under the patronage of his family. Ray and Ryan would not be so fortunate as to bring a friend home to their kingdoms with them.  
  
 _Enough of that,_ Geoff scolded himself gruffly, _it’s Ray’s eighteenth, no need to be wallowing in the grief of farewells so soon._ With that thought firmly in his mind, he raised an eyebrow at the group. “First one to the square gets free drinks?”

There is a roar of approval from all assembled, even Ray, who has never touched a drop of alcohol in his life. The four urge their horses into a gallop and go tearing down the cobblestone path of the Royal Gardens, Gavin clearing a low wall with Grisham, just to show off.

In the end, Ray wins, but his prize is moot, as all of his friends want to buy him a drink on his birthday regardless. Instead, Ray demands a golden carrot from each of them for Dirk Dirk, his beautiful bay, practically glowing at the groans all around about how ‘fucking expensive those shit sticks are’ and ‘they are literally the worst things, they aren’t even _healthy_ ’ and ‘not all of us are damn wealthy aristocrats’, the last one courtesy of Jack. Ignoring their complaints, Ray just strokes Dirk Dirk with a contented smile on his face.  
  
Ryan glances up at the clocktower in the center of the square, humming thoughtfully. “It’s about noon now…meet up just after sundown? Golden _fucking_ carrots in tow?” After a quick check with all of the assembled, the men agree to the time. It’s around this time when Gavin finally checks back in to the conversation, whips around himself to look at the clock, and then flails, muttering curses.

 “I, ah, I have to go, lads, see you at whatever the time you said—wasn’t paying attention anyway—I have a place I need to be—“ a quick glance back at the clocktower “—twenty minutes ago, damn it all.”

Geoff’s eyes twinkle in understanding. “Ohhh, so you’re ditching us to see a lady, then, is it?”

Gavin blinks and shakes his head furiously. “What? No, nothing of the kind, I just have…a thing.”

Jack grins and joins in. “Does that ‘thing’ have a name?”

Gavin sputters helplessly. “Bugger off, would you? I’m not going to see a damned lady—I just have a prior commitment!” He mutters under his breath and trots away from the group, with a short, sarcastic wave.

The remaining three watch Gavin disappear around the corner, then turn to stare at Geoff, who shrugs. “I don’t know a thing about it. He hasn’t spoken a single word to me about any ‘prior commitment’. Sounds secretive. But apparently not a lady.” Ryan nods and hums thoughtfully.

“Ah, a man, then?” The four snicker and shake their heads, Geoff waving his hand in the air.

“Alright, alright, enough, be gone with you all! Be off to the stables and change into some fresher clothes. No prince ought to be bar hopping smelling like a ride in the country with his companions. Jackie's probably worried sick and pacing, anyway.” There are varying noises of agreement and a choking noise of disgust from Ray at the nickname of Geoff's spiderwolf. Geoff shoots Ray a dirty look but says nothing, preferring to allow the four to part ways, each off to prepare for Ray’s eighteenth celebration.

 

\------

 

Gavin crouched low in the grass, almost down to his belly, wishing for the hundredth time that his cloak matched the golds and browns of the tall grass topping the hills just outside Achievement City. Gavin's eyes flicked over his surroundings wildly, pulse thudding hard in his throat. He always did this to Gavin--whether he was late or early, that damned man never failed to creep up behind him an--  
  
"AGGHH!!"  
  
Gavin screeched and leapt two feet in the air as a voice appeared from literally nowhere and snarled a low, _"Greetings"_ directly into his ear.  
  
He spun around, clutching his ear as if it were wounded. "Gods of the earth, Mogar, is it really necessary to make me shit my pants whenever we meet? You'll kill me with surprise one day, and won't you be sorry then!"  
  
The fiery haired man who crept up on Gavin snorts and stretches out a hand. "Up you go, you dumb fuck. You're no good to me cowering on the grassbeds. And by the gods, keep quiet! I need not for every human within a ten mile radius to hear you screech out my name."  
  
Gavin rolls his eyes but accepts the unusually warm hand, letting the stronger man pull him to his feet. "Then what other name shall I call you by? Red? Dr--"  
  
Mogar hisses and slams a forceful hand over Gavin's mouth, cradling the back of his skull with his other. Gavin is mesmerized as always by the fierce and beautiful cat eyes that bore down into his. "If you'd let me speak more than two words without interrupting, asshole, I might be able to explain. Obviously, you won't be able to use my real name in your letters--neither can I for that matter--so I chose an alias. Michael. Michael Jones."  
  
He removes himself from Gavin and steps back, cracking his neck. "Well?"  
  
Gavin feigns looking thoughtful before bursting out into a singsong voice, "~Here comes, Michael Jones, running down the track--mmfnfinskjmhmh!" Mogar slams a hand against Gavin's mouth for a second time, this time pressing him up against a tree.  
  
"I swear to the gods of my mountains, if you keep this up, I will literally tear off one of your arms." He bares his teeth, and Gavin can't muster the faintest flicker of fear, even knowing that Mogar is dead serious. He plucks Mogar's hand from his mouth and smiles sweetly as he can.  
  
"Gods, but I have missed you. And Micool is a lovely name, don't fret over it, love." Michael rolls his eyes and steps away once more, dragging a hand through his hair, Gavin close at his heels.  
  
"What are we going to do today, Micool? It's our last day together but I have to leave before sundown to meet up with the guys for Ray's eighteenth..." He grins amiably at his companion, the shorter man raising an eyebrow in response and pointedly refusing to return the dumb grin.  
  
"We don't actually have to do anything, Gav. It's not like we won't see each other again. If you just want to walk, that's fine."  
  
That's one of the things Gavin likes the most about Mogar. He's always been able to see right through him to what he really wants. And even though the man cuffs him more often and berates him more harshly than the other guys, he never makes Gavin feel uncomfortable. He's always happy to do stupid things just because they'll please Gavin (although he will complain loudly about it) and he doesn't ask for anything in return. Gavin may not have known Mogar longer than Geoff or Jack or Ryan or Ray, but Mogar just _gets_ him, instinctually, in ways his other friends took years to do.  
  
So they walk through the grasses, both silently and vocally, switching between the two like the flow of the tide. It wouldn't be an outing with Mogar if his friend wasn't occasionally trying to stuff his face in some disgusting moss on a tree that he found, or kicking at his boots and insulting him, but they fall into a pattern of give and take, easy as falling asleep.  
  
Mogar tells him about his mountain home. How he's the only competent one around anymore, how the rest of his family is dead lazy and useless. He gets particularly animated whenever he talks about the most idiotic misadventures he has with his clan. ("I literally said, _three fucking seconds ago_ , that's poisonous don't eat it, and what does he fucking do? He eats it!" or "Every night that I make the _same fucking mistak_ e of lighting the fire before the clan returns from hunting, someone stomps on it. It's not that difficult! _Step around!_ But no, my entire clan is composed of dicks. Fuck. Me").  
  
Sometimes Mogar will talk about someone, a mentor of some kind, but also a friend, and his usually so wild countenance goes soft and thoughtful. He's full of adoration and gratitude to this friend--they're absolutely irreplaceable to him. When he gets this way, Gavin can only hope that Mogar looks even a little bit this wistful when speaking of him to his clan friends. More likely though, Mogar would fume and rant in a way that no one could take seriously, and if Gavin's honest, that's almost just as good.  
  
Gavin is far less exciting--he usually can only talk about the latest exploits he's gotten up to with Geoff and the gang, or what neat new tricks he's going to teach Grisham. Talking with Mogar makes him realize just how simple his life is, but at the same time, Mogar hasn't abandoned him yet, so there must be some allure to his stories other than the ginger simply humoring him.  
  
The two settle down, backs against a large boulder, pressed together from shoulders to thighs. Gavin curls himself against Michael a little, shivering at the temperature difference between the now brisk air and Michael's radiating body heat. The gold-eyed man blinks at him thoughtfully once, then closes his eyes.  
  
Gavin grumbles against Michael's shoulder. "How do you just _give off_ heat like this? It's hardly fair."  
  
Michael huffs in self-satisfaction, and Gavin feels the movement through his side. "Well, I don't mean to be terribly obvious, but there _is_ the species difference between you and I."  
  
"I know that!" Gavin whines, snapping himself upright. "Why do you dragons get all the cool, useful traits? Wings, stealth, claws and teeth, friggin' body heat... When will the injustice end?"  
  
Michael yawns and knocks his head against Gavin's gently. "There, there, puny human. At least you have...wait, no, that's right, you don't have anything special." He grins into Gavin's keening of _"Micoooool, that's so meeeaannn"._  
  
The two trail off into silence for a few moments, Mogar's head twitching unconsciously every now and then to adjust his hearing to the surrounding area. Gavin plucks at a piece of grass, knowing he should be watching out for spiders or the undead or—gods forbid— _Endermen_ on the prowl at dusk, but, comforted by Michael's constant vigilance, sinks back and allows all his muscles to relax.  
  
"Micool?" He starts, a little uncertain, because he's been turning over these thoughts for a while now. He continues when Michael answers with a questioning 'hmm?'  
  
"You really will come visit me in the North, won't you Micool? I know you have your clan to care for, and letter writing is good and fine and all, but I'm going to miss this," he murmurs, gesturing across their laps.  
  
Michael leans his head against Gavin's in comfort, eyes still closed. "Of course I will, Gav, of course. Every week's end, if that is what you wish. Believe me, I want to get away from my clan more than anything else in the world. Besides, what is days of travel by land for you is only hours of flight for me." Opening one golden eye to meet Gavin's hopeful gaze, he grins. "Anything for my boi!"  
  
It's the reaction he hoped for. Gavin leans his head back, laughing. "Oh come off it, you."  
  
"Aww, but Gavvy Wavvy, what about Team Nice Dynamite?"  
  
Gavin giggles and slaps Michael's shoulder, thinking back to the name they gave themselves when they were spectacularly plastered. "Stop it, Micool, I'm trying to be serious!"  
  
"And I'm seriously insisting that it'll be fine, don't worry. Might have to ask for directions along the way, but it can't be much further than Achievement City."  
  
"Just look for the jade and silver banners!" Gavin adds unhelpfully.  
  
"Right. Thanks." Michael glances at the sky. "Don't you have a party with copious amounts of alcohol involved to attend?"  
  
Gavin notes the nearly darkening sky, as well. "I suppose. Hey, maybe I can introduce you to Geoff and Jack when we go home!"  
  
Michael stands, cracks his back, and hauls Gavin to his feet by his shoulders. "Yeah, sure, whatever you want. I am up for pretty much anything."  
  
Gavin hops a little in place, glancing towards the square, then back to Michael, his eyes glowing in the gradually darkening wilderness. It's time for goodbyes, but neither of them are really ready for it. Michael finally just sticks his hand out. Gavin rolls his eyes and bats his hand to the side, opting for a tight hug instead. Michael huffs a laugh into Gavin's hair and returns the hug.  
  
"Not the end, yeah?" Gavin asks, finally, pulling away.  
  
"'Course not." Michael dips his head, and then he's turning, running full tilt into the grass. One moment he's gone from sight, and the next...a magnificent red and gold scaled dragon is pumping its wings through the air, powering towards the Eastern Mountains before anyone from Achievement City can see him. Gavin smiles a little in wonder at Mogar's graceful form, watching him disappear from view, before turning and heading back into Achievement City, in the direction of the square.  
  
\-----  
  
Celebration with the princes, as with all other things, started with a bang, and ended with an even bigger bang. Ray had initially suspected prostitutes and exotic dancers might have been hired for an occasion like this, but Geoff and Ryan had planned a smaller, more familial setting for Ray's birthday. In a way, that kind of party--one with just his closest, most tight-knit group of friends--was much better than any opulent, over-the-top bash. That was not, however, to say that there weren't some gods-damned mortifying moments.  
  
Ryan and Geoff took Ray off his guard by presenting him with a flower crown made of roses, a flower they knew Ray was enamored of. Ray was practically hopping up and down with excitement. "Oh my gods, it's so beautiful...I want to wear it! Yes! The entire night!" Jack placed the crown on Ray's head delicately, retreating with a deep bow.  
  
"As you wish, Your Highness."  
  
Ray missed the plotting gazes shared between the three oldest. Before he could wonder why even Gavin had gone quiet, Ryan looped one arm around Ray's left while Geoff looped an arm around his right, and then proceeded to drag him off. They shouted loudly and clearly enough that everyone in the surrounding area could hear, while Jack and Gavin ran ahead, scattering rose petals in front of a humiliated Ray.  
  
"Prince Ray's birthday today!"  
  
"Planning to get the Prince of the West so drunk tonight!"  
  
"He's a man now!"  
  
"Three cheers for the Rose Prince!"  
  
All along the streets they paraded him down, Ray was met by cheers and laughter at the sight of him being forcibly tugged along. Women giggled in small groups or waved at him from open second-story windows, handkerchiefs in hand. His back ached from all the good-natured slaps it received from other men on the streets. Ray tried his hardest to smile and not blush too hard at his friends' prank. When they finally walked through the doors of a tavern, Ray collapsed against the bar, groaning.  
  
"You guys are the fucking worst. What kind of assholes do that to a guy on his birthday?"  
  
"'Tis only tradition, Ray. Are you honestly that surprised?" Ryan barked out, laughing.  
  
"Not particularly," Ray muttered into the top of the bar, "And that's what frightens me."  
  
"Chin up, lad," Gavin whistles cheerfully, snatching up the bar stool on Ray's left. "The hazing's over, now the fun part begins. We get to drink until we can't even see straight, and let me tell you, that can be all kinds of fun." Gavin pointedly leaves out the part about the terrific migraine that will come for them the next morning.  
  
"Bartender!" Jack calls. "We'll take five of whatever your best spirits are. Only the finest for Ray's alcoholic journey into manhood!" There are resounding cheers of agreement from his other four companions as they throw themselves into the vacant bar stools. The bartender nods and turns to the alcohol.  
  
Geoff admires the fine amber of the liquor in the shot glasses presented to them. The bartender is a rounder, bald man with an eternally cheerful smile under his thick mustache. "Drink up, my princes. First round's on the house, in honor of Your Grace's birthday," he declares, nodding at Ray, who raises his glass in reply, as if he actually knows what he's doing.  
  
Geoff grins. "You must throw down the first shot, no sipping at it like a little miss would. Turn back your head and just down it in one." Ray eyes Geoff suspiciously and dips a pinky in the glass, raising it to his lips to taste. His tongue flicks out to try just the tiniest amount, and he recoils, sputtering.  
  
"Gods above! Are you sure I can drink that? It tastes absolutely revolting!" His companions laugh at his shocked statement. Ray checks to make sure the bartender isn't offended, but he's laughing right along with them. Ray glances at the assembled one last time.  
  
"Go on now," Jack coaxes, "not as bad as it may taste."  
  
Throwing caution to the wind, Ray shrugs and downs the shot in one gulp, coming up sputtering and coughing. By this time Geoff is bent over double laughing, Ryan has his head thrown back, and Gavin is trying to smother his giggles in his palm. Ray glares at Jack, betrayed.  
  
"That was even _worse_ than I expected!"  
  
The men are gone now, patting Ray on the shoulder and trying to get their laughter under control. They each take their own shots and order some ales next, insisting that 'it really does get better, honest' and 'everyone's a little bitch about their first shot--even Geoff, the gods-damned alcoholic was' and 'once you're completely and utterly drunk you won't be able to tell the difference anyway'. Ray just grumbles and sips at his ale, making a face at the still frankly awful taste.  
  
The rest of the night was spent getting progressively more and more drunk. Ray was an obvious lightweight, but Gavin proved that he was almost just as bad--they were long gone by the time the three eldest began to get tipsy. Gavin and Ray giggled at pretty much anything said, lost the ability to tell the difference between Ryan and Jack's voices, mocked Geoff's voice cracks, and stumbled over and into each other while they attempted to appear sober and invested in the conversation of their older friends.  
  
After the fifth time Geoff caught Gavin sticking his fingers into Geoff's glass just for shits 'n giggles, he declared himself far too sober for this kind of nonsense, and instigated an impromptu drinking game against Ryan. Jack, the unanimous choice of chaperone, left them to pull Ray off an attractive and nice (but also quite flustered) waitress with whom Ray was trying to hit on. He also found himself having to rescue Gavin from the floor, where he was slumped down, leaning against Geoff's legs and tugging on his boot laces occasionally. Geoff was purposefully not being very careful about keeping his drink in his glass, and kept "accidentally" spilling its contents on the head of the unfortunate man below him, resulting in high pitched squeals from Gavin. Too drunk and too comfortable to figure out how to stand up, Gavin was just taking the abuse from his spot on the ground.  
  
Of course, Geoff and Ryan didn't stay "just tipsy" for too much longer. Even in winning the drinking game, Geoff was still much closer to blackout drunk than tipsy, and getting progressively louder with every new alcoholic beverage pumped into his veins. Ryan was, amusingly, loud too, and arguing with Geoff, although in his drunken state he was unable to remember names and facts, reverting to such eloquent words as "the thingy" and "that stuff" and Jack's personal favorite, "the fucking what-was-it-called".  
  
As the night dragged on, Jack gradually herded his friends around an oak table in the back corner, where they would have less access to alcohol and even less access to other human beings. Jack wasn't too worried about them tarnishing their reputations as princes--he was far more worried about them involving other innocents in their drunken shenanigans. Slumping down next to Geoff, Jack sized up each one of his friends in their current states.  
  
Ryan was pulling a nodding-off Ray against him, hooking an arm around his shoulder. Ray blinked sleepily and looked up at Ryan, who shot him an amused grin. "Ry-bread," Ray murmured contentedly, and then promptly fell asleep curled into Ryan's body, with his face buried in the crook of Ryan's  neck.  
  
Gavin, having recovered a little sobriety, took up Ryan's place in arguing with Geoff, who was proving to be the most intolerable human being at that moment. Jack tried to pay attention, but the somewhat constructed arguments quickly fell apart into name-calling and accent-mocking. He was pretty sure that with Ryan halfway to sleep and Ray drooling on his shirt, their night out would be almost over until he heard a sound like a distant gunshot, and then a following _pop._  
  
"Fuck!" Jack cried out. "The fireworks!"  
  
Breaking up Geoff and Gavin's half unintelligible babble, Jack shooed them out the door of the tavern, turning to the other two. Ryan, roused by Jack's curse, shook Ray awake. He blinked at Jack, who was itching to follow Geoff and Gavin, who he had just released into the general public. "Go ahead," Ryan yawned, voice heavy with sleep, "We'll be right out."  
  
Jack shoved open the doors to find the two thankfully slumped against each other, staring up at the fireworks in wonder, against the outside wall of the tavern.  
  
"Forgot we ordered those," Geoff murmured, while Gavin just nodded in agreement. Jack settles down beside the two as another, sparkly firework is let off into the sky. The _ooohs_ of his two friends are echoed by common people on the street, equally enthralled by the wheeling displays of light and color.  
  
Ryan, true to his word, is out the door only a few minutes behind Jack, a small bundle of Ray in his arms. Ray's head is leaning all the way back to admire the fireworks display. "Are those all for me?" He whispers, sitting up to face Ryan, eyes wide. Ryan nods in the affirmative. Ray turns his eyes back to the sky and points. "Oh! Oh! Oh that's a rose, isn't it?"  
  
A giant red firework lights up the sky, bursting into a rose shape. Geoff's face hurts from smiling. "Well l'll be damned," he murmurs. "They actually _could_ make a rose." There are cheers from all the bystanders as the last few fireworks go up after the finale.  
  
"Happy birthday, Ray," Ryan says, and the other three echo him.  
  
\-----  
  
"Gavin, you son-of-a-bitch, you could have told me about how much being hungover sucks!" Ray whisper yells, cradling his throbbing temples. He has no idea where he is, only that it's mercifully dark, and that that was definitely Gavin who he kicked just then. Speaking makes him feel sick. So does breathing. So does everything. In fact--  
  
Ray bolts out the door, grateful to see a lavatory only a few yards away, and sinks to the floor, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. He heaves a few times, feeling like shit, and then sits up, blinking around blearily in the suddenly too light space. "Where the fuck are my glasses?"  
  
"Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty." A mysterious figure walks over to Ray's pathetically crouched figure and hands him his glasses. It's Geoff. And he's holding something that smells like--no, it actually is, black coffee. Ray wrinkles his nose when offered some. "C'mon," Geoff insists, shoving the mug into his hands. "It'll help with the headache."  
  
Geoff sips from his own mug and makes a face. "Not going to lie, though, it tastes absolutely dreadful." Ray resigns himself to his fate and drinks, trying not to screw up his face too much. Thankfully, his head feels a little clearer and less like there's an entire cavalry pounding across it.  
  
"That's crap," he agrees, "and I am also never touching a drop of alcohol again in my life." He manages to stumble to his feet and follow Geoff, already retreating from the lavatory. "Where are we?" Ray croaks, not recognizing his surroundings. He realizes that they're on the second story when he turns the corner and sees stairs.  
  
"Ryan paid our bartender friend to let us stay the night before we all blacked out," Geoff calls from down the stairs, as Ray stumbles after him, trying not to hurt himself on the way down. He hisses as some of the boiling coffee splashes onto his hand.  
  
"Fuck," he growls in pain. Geoff waits patiently at the foot of the stairs, raising an eyebrow at Ray's curse. The dark-haired man waves a hand in dismissal and looks around. The bar is actually a nice little place--dark, but clean for the most part. It's strange to see it so dead quiet and empty after the events of last night. Well...from what Ray can remember at least. It looks surprisingly tidy, and Ray has to pause a moment to appreciate the effort that must go into the tavern's upkeep. All in all, it's not a terrible place to stay the night. But looking around on the first floor confirms his earlier suspicions. Frowning, he turns back to Geoff. "Hey...where are Ryan and Jack?"  
  
Geoff raises one shoulder in half a shrug. "Jack never stayed; he just paid, tucked us in and took off, from what I remember. Ryan stayed with us, but he left way early, probably to get dressed and freshened up for today's ceremony."  
  
" _Fuck_ ," Ray almost wails, louder. The sound of his own voice causes him to wince, and he makes miserable eyes at Geoff, sipping his gods-damned awful coffee. Geoff eyes him sympathetically.  
  
"Forgot about it too, didn't you now? Once we rouse Gavin, we can pay a visit to Caleb. He's not usually prone to utilizing his healing techniques for something as mundane as a hangover, but as our case is somewhat important, he will likely make an exception for us." Ray massages his temples win his free hand, feeling half-dead and still mostly unconscious, especially with the weight of today's responsibility on his plate.  
  
From above them, the pounding of feet can be heard, and then the unmistakable sound of a person puking up the contents of their stomach. There's a beat of silence, and then a weak call of " _Geooofff_ ". Geoff gestures to upstairs with his empty mug.  
  
"His Royal Lightweight-ness requires my immediate assistance. Feel free to tidy yourself up, Ray. Sink's behind the counter." Snatching up another steaming mug resting on the bar, Geoff trots up the stairs, calling out softly to Gavin, who only whimpers in reply.  
  
Ray does as Geoff suggests, trying not to move too fast and shake his head. Oh gods, they will be riding _horses_ today. Whatever Caleb does for their migraines must be pretty powerful, or Ray feels he might collapse and fall off of Dirk Dirk. At this point, Ray would really just prefer someone strike him down, preferably through decapitation, so he wouldn't have to feel anything above his neck ever again.  
  
Ray dresses himself sloppily and slowly, but is secretly pleased to see Gavin has managed to look even worse than him, and Geoff isn't looking too hot, either. The three leave the tavern with a final farewell to the bartender and owner. They stick to the shade as they walk down the street, fixated on Caleb's current location at the Kingdoms’ Pax, the meeting place for the kings and the mayor. Ray fervently hopes the bags under his eyes don't look as prominent as Gavin's, but a quick glance at his reflection lets him know that he's not lucky enough to escape that unfortunate fate.  
  
When they finally throw the doors to the Kingdoms’ Pax open and splay themselves across the floor, squinting at the bright white of the inside welcoming hall, Caleb is on the steps, speaking to a servant. One glance at their shiftless forms tells him all he needs to know. Rolling his eyes and sighing in fond exasperation, Caleb walks down to greet them, his white robe pooling on the floor as he leans down.  
  
"Rough night, I gather? Even Ryan had a headache, and here Geoff is now, so I gather it really must have been some party."  
  
Even Caleb's gentle voice is grating on Ray's hungover eardrums, and he lets out a mournful wail. "I won't touch alcohol ever again, Caleb, I swear it to the gods around and above us."  
  
Caleb shrugs and smiles. "Have to try everything once, I suppose. Even I drank on my eighteenth." He reaches out two hands to Ray's temples and gently massages them. Ray can feel all the pain and weariness drain from his body in a way that normal massages could never accomplish. Caleb's hands are warm and perfect, and Ray barely manages to hold back a relieved mewl.  
  
 When he glances questioningly at Caleb, the Mayor replies, "Healer's touch. One of the strongest and most effective ways to deal with illness. Very rarely will it fail a healer."  
  
"It's a magic sent from the gods, it is," Ray murmurs in wonder, not seeing Caleb's hand twitch sharply as he reaches for Geoff next. Geoff makes a pleased noise and sits up, scrubbing his face rigorously with his hands. Gavin sighs in contentment as Caleb removes his pain, choosing to fall asleep in the middle of the welcoming hall rather than get up. Geoff snorts and scoops up his charge reluctantly.  
  
"Thank you for that favor, Caleb." Geoff bows slightly with respect, and Ray nods enthusiastically. "We'll be seeing you at noon."  
  
"It's one of the last few things I can do for you," Caleb replies softly, closing his eyes and smiling. "Hurry along now, boys, you must be on time for this afternoon's send-off."  
  
The three hurry off, with one last wave to Caleb. Geoff nods at Ray once they hit the intersection of the road, before they part, houses in opposite directions from each other. "Best be there on time then, Ray. Oh, and check up on Ryan, would you? I haven't the faintest idea as to where he ran off to."  
  
Ray dips his head in acquiescence. He jogs in place a little, feeling none of the exhaustion or sharp pain in his head from a few minutes ago. "Caleb's really something, isn't he?" Ray calls out to Geoff, already walking away. Geoff turns back once to grin at Ray.  
  
"Oh my good friend, you know not even the half of it."  
  
\----  
  
With one final tug, Ryan secures his sword's scabbard around his waist. He turns to face the mirror, making a few, final adjustments to his attire. He scowls at the fancy clothes, the heavy fur lining of his cloak. The formal clothing for the homecoming ceremony was in the colors of his house--thick, black Enderman hide armor over his soft undershirt, trimmed with silver; an indigo kilt over softer black breeches; clean white boots stretching to just below his knees, uncomfortable with lack of wear; and the heavy, shiny indigo cloak with speckled fur covering his shoulders. All this pomp and ceremony for something as simple as returning to their birthplace...Ryan would give anything to be in his hunting gear, bow and quiver slung comfortably over his shoulder, pushing his horse hard with the snow covered pines of his homeland as his only company.  
  
Ryan was built for tracking and sneaking, for adrenaline and the heat of battle--the ceremony of kinghood was simply a tedious and necessary evil. After all, the people liked the ceremony, liked seeing their noble leaders dressed up and solemn, at the very least appearing like they knew what they were doing. And Ryan could pretend well enough. Tilt his head back, refuse to make eye contact with the audience, neutral but predatory expression, assertive stance, and bam! Instant royalty. Ryan curled his lip. Disgusting.  
  
"Don't scowl in such a way, Haywood, your face might stick that way."  
  
Ryan hadn't heard Ray walk into his dressing room, but that was hardly surprising. Ray walked like a cat through the shadows--light on his feet and just out of sight. Besides, most of Ryan's protective guard knew that Ray and Ryan weren't exactly strangers, and this was hardly the first time Ray had snuck in on him in various states of undress.  
  
Ryan turns to face his companion, leaning against a marble pillar, just outside the door. Ray is also dressed to kill; in all black down to his boots and the gloves covering his delicate fingers. The only color on him is the red of his own cloak, brighter than blood and pinned over his right shoulder. Against the backdrop of lovely sunlit gardens and pale marble, Ray sucks in all the sunlight, drawing incredible attention to himself. He is slouched in a manner unbefitting a future king, but his neck is exposed in a way most pleasing to Ryan. He's also looking Ryan up and down in such a fashion that would make any other man uncomfortable, but Ryan is not just any man.  
  
He stalks over to Ray, who straightens up and meets his eyes in an almost challenging manner, having to incline his chin upwards to look the taller man dead on. He has a sly little smirk that Ryan can't wait to wipe off his face later, but instead replies with a matching smirk and the slight tilt of his head.  
  
"Don't quote old nursemaid superstitions at me, Narvaez, when you're staring me up and down so sinfully."  
  
Ray shrugs and drops his gaze submissively, opting to straighten out Ryan's fur lining instead. Ryan catches his hand in the act and presses it against his chest, forcing Ray to look at him again, if only for a moment. Ray’s so flighty when Ryan pays him attention like this, but he supposes that’s just part of the allure.  
  
"It's such a shame you despise royal attire. You look absolutely devastating when you put on that aristocratic facade." The darker-haired man murmurs, splaying his fingers out a little across Ryan's chest. Ryan pushes closer to him in response, forcing Ray back against the pillar. He can hear the quick breath Ray takes in and leans his head closer.  
  
"You know I could just eat you alive, black cat," Ryan replies from deep in his throat. Ray's eyes return to his finally, Ryan cupping his cheek with his free hand. He doesn’t need to feel Ray’s pulse to know that it’s going a mile a minute, a tiny animal trapped in the claws of a predator. They are close enough for their breaths to mingle and harmonize.

But anything else he might have said was immediately cut off by an embarrassed cough. The two men turn to look at a flushed guard who clearly did not want to be the one to interrupt them.  
  
"The other members of the royal company have arrived, my princes, and are waiting just outside the gates," the guard struggles, trying not to stutter and retain his professionalism. The princes don’t speak for a moment, the tension between them lost. Ray pushes himself against Ryan by way of reply, both hands pressed firmly against his chest.  
  
"So tell them to wait," the Westerner commands with a long blink. The guard hesitates a moment, glancing between the two, torn between obeying the order of a prince and awaiting the command of his employer. Ryan rolls his eyes and waves one hand at the guard, looping his other around Ray's waist.  
  
"Enough, be gone with you--you heard the man. We will be with our companions shortly." The guard hurries off almost too quickly.  
  
Ryan inhales deeply from his nose and rests his forehead against Ray's, closing his eyes. "Our final moments together...by the gods, I cannot believe it is so." Ray’s eyes close too, and they seek solace in the unity of their breathing, their heartbeats. Ryan’s arms pull tightly around Ray’s waist for a brief moment, and then he releases the smaller man.

He draws away reluctantly into his dressing room, stepping over to a table. From it, he lifts a magnificent iron sword, looks it over once, and seals it in his scabbard. Ray unconsciously lays a hand on his own rapier.  
  
"I had thought you were avoiding me, these past few days."  
  
Ryan turns and smiles gently at his companion. "Not all, dear friend. Some elements of your birthday had to remain...classified." Ray makes a face at the thought of his public humiliation, but then softens his countenance when he recalls the fireworks.  
  
"I would have liked to stay the night with you one last time," Ray admits.  
  
"Naughty," Ryan replies with a grin, holding out an arm for Ray. The smaller man takes it and matches his grin. They walk out into the sunlight, portraits of well-bred aristocracy. The underlings and guards of the Haywood family watch them in awe as they strut across the lawn, and Ray feels like he's the most powerful man in the world, attached to Ryan's arm like he is. Before they can reach the gates, however, Ryan pulls Ray to the side.  
  
"Before we depart with the others, I would ask of you a favor," Ryan says, looking unusually serious. Ray feels his heart leap into his throat and prays to every god he knows that Ryan doesn't hear it pound.  
  
"Anything, as always, dear friend," Ray replies, eyebrows pulled together in worry.  
  
Ryan hesitates a moment, finding his words. "In the past, wars have waged between the three Kingdoms, over matters both small and large. More often than not, it is the dispute between two kings that is the instigator--a personal problem. With you, Ray, I...I would dearly hope that a petty fight between us would not lead to a repeat of the devastating wars of the past."  
  
Ray shakes his head, still not knowing where the conversation was heading. "Of course not, noble Ryan, a simple quibble could not dissolve the bond we share."  
  
The tension eases from Ryan's shoulders. "Then I would ask this of you: when we are kings, let us unite our kingdoms in allegiance; both to ensure their prosperity, and to defend the other's honor and safety in times of great plight." He takes a breath. "I will swear my allegiance to thee, Prince Ray; all I can do is ask for the same in return." Ryan gets down on one knee, taking Ray's gloved hand and staring into his face.  
  
Ray manages to cough out a small noise and nod in agreement, feeling a slight tremble run through his body. "A-Aye, Prince Ryan. I too do swear my allegiance to thee, from the moment I take the throne, into the unforeseeable future." He's struggling not to get choked up a little, and failing miserably. This is what he wanted more than anything else—an alliance with his dear friend and lover, tying the fates of their kingdoms together.  
  
Ryan smiles kindly. Turning attention to Ray's hand, he removes the glove gently, kissing the bare top of Ray's hand and pressing it to his forehead. "It is a vow, then, Your Grace," he whispers, while Ray tries to stop shaking.  
  
Of course, by the time Ryan has returned to standing, Geoff bursts around the corner of the gate, Gavin and Jack in tow. "Excellent idea as always, Ryan," he agrees, loud and obnoxious, clearly having heard the entire discussion. He shoots Ray a wink, and is rewarded by the instant flush of his cheeks. Jack checks Ryan with his shoulder, grinning, but Ryan only rolls his eyes and maintains his calm smile.  
  
"What are you on about, Geoff?" Gavin asks, completely oblivious to the conversation Geoff and Jack had been listening in on. "What's an excellent idea?"  
  
Geoff throws his arms into the air. "Gods above, we ought to just fulfill Caleb's dream and unite our kingdoms in a triple alliance when we rise to power. Gavin and Jack are technically under my rule, so they will agree to my proposal." Jack curses Geoff under his breath while Gavin's eyes light up.  
  
Ray and Ryan exchange glances. Ryan reaches down to take Ray’s bare hand, and the dark-haired man smiles up at him. "I don't see why not," Ray muses, pointedly refusing to look at Geoff.  
  
"No harm done, I suppose," Ryan concurs, holding out a fist with his free hand. The other four join him, connecting their fists.  
  
"We, the princes and charges of princes, do solemnly swear to form and uphold an alliance between the three great Kingdoms of our land upon our coronation. May the gods above and around us witness this pact in the name of the Golden Monolith. Hear us! I swear!" Geoff calls out. The other four follow suit a beat after. There are fond glances all around, and Gavin is practically vibrating in excitement.  
  
"Alright, get on with the show, then," Jack sighs, exasperated. You have places to be and gifts and blessings to receive." The five walk outside the gate of the Haywood’s house and mount their horses, brought out to them by stable hands, lining up by age and rank, Geoff leading and Jack tailing. Even the _horses_ are decorated in the colors and sigils of each family. The five depart single file for the city square.  
  
Along the way, the common people of Caleb's country wave them on. The Princes of the Three Kingdoms have become The Princes of the Neutral Country too, adopted by the people. The princes represent a peaceful and prosperous future to the country that raised them. The people, too, are sad to see them go. The Neutral Country is just as much of a home to the princes as their own birthplaces, and their parting is more bitter than sweet.  
  
Geoff finds himself glancing back at his companions more and more often, Ray and Gavin are practically riding side by side, and Ryan is waving to all those assembled on either side of the road to see them off, but it is the knowing smile from Jack that causes Geoff to break rank and drop back with the others. As if reading his mind, the others make room with gentle tugs to the reins of their horses. The five arrive in the heavily guarded town square like that, riding five in a row.  
  
The trumpets sound at the arrival of the princes and their two companions. Jack and Gavin give small bows to the three and guide their horses off to the sidelines--they are not part of this ceremony. The Free family stands beside the Ramsey's immediate family, the minor royals mingling well with the royal family of the North. More surprising is how close the Pattillo's are to the Ramsey's, considering the low status of the blacksmithing family. Geoff notes, with pride, how some of his knights joke around with Jack's father. His father has kept his word; the Pattillo's will be assimilated into the ranks of aristocracy.  
  
The three princes trot off to their respective houses: Geoff to the jade and silver banners boasting a wolf sigil, Ryan to the indigo and silver banners, decorated with cow skull sigils, and Ray to the red and black banners, under the rose sigil. Geoff and his father exchange respectful nods while Geoff's mother excitedly ushers him to her side. It has been quite a while since Geoff had seen either of them, but he still feels the warmth and the nostalgia of being surrounded by his biological family. Of course, Jackie, Geoff's spiderwolf is already engaged in reuniting himself with his siblings, Leon and Cosby, the spiderwolves of the King and Queen of the North. He is leaping about and snapping playfully at his brothers, eight legs wheeling. Ryan has received a similar welcome, his mother and father smothering him in attention while he barely manages to keep up a facade of equal euphoria at seeing them again. The sight of Ryan's powerful figure being incased in an awkward hug with his much smaller mother is unbelievably amusing to Geoff.  
  
Ray's situation is a bit different. Although Geoff and Ryan had gotten the chance to actually live with and be raised by their families into their teenage years, Ray had been living in Achievement City since he was two years old. As such, he was not as familiar with his family, and looked visibly uncomfortable around them. Geoff supposed it didn't help that his father was already stone-faced and wouldn't even look at him. He feels a pang of sympathy for Ray.

All thoughts of troubled families are erased from Geoff’s mind as the ceremony begins with another blast from the trumpets. Caleb emerges from within the building they were gathered in front of, dressed in his mayoral clothing this time. Geoff’s respect for the man grows, seeing him dressed as a leader in the sharp white and reds of the Neutral Country, rather than the soft, flowing healer garb Caleb preferred. He maintains his trademark gentle smile as he raises his arms, silencing the chatter of the assembled.

“Greetings, all. We gather here today to celebrate the coming of age of Prince Ray, of House Narvaez. Being the youngest of the crown princes of the Three Kingdoms, his coming of age also signifies the end of the final measures of the peace treaty, signed twenty years ago in this very city. I have the honor of seeing off these three princes, symbols of a prosperous future before us,” Caleb walks forward, turning to face the Ramsey’s.

“Geoffrey Lazer Ramsey, of House Ramsey, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of the North and future successor to King Ramsey, The Sun King, I bless your passage from this city to your home in the North in the name of the Golden Monolith. May you always find favor in the gods above and around us.” Geoff smiles and nods, but notes the flash of _something_ between his father and Caleb that sets him on edge. But it is gone as soon as it arrives, and Caleb walks away.

Turning to Ryan, Caleb continues. “James Ryan Haywood, of House Haywood, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of the South and future successor to King Haywood, The Ice King, I bless your passage from this city to your home in the South in the name of the Golden Monolith. May you always find favor in the gods above and around us.” Ryan nods solemnly, while his father shoots Caleb a playful wink, to which Caleb rolls his eyes fondly.

Turning finally to Ray, Caleb dips his head slightly. “A blessing on your journey to manhood, Ray. The gods have done well by you.” He glances over to The Red King, but the man does not make eye contact or even look at him. Caleb lowers his eyes sadly for a moment, then meets Ray’s once again. “Ray Narvaez, Jr., of House Narvaez, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of the West and the future successor to King Narvaez, The Red King, I bless your passage from this city to your home in the West in the name of the Golden Monolith. May you always find favor in the gods above and around us.” Ray nods a little too enthusiastically in response.

Caleb returns to the top of the steps for his final words. His face is surprisingly solemn when he next speaks. “In the Three Kingdoms, when a new house takes a throne, each new crown is forged from the blessed gold of the Golden Monolith and the blood of the last king conquered. No man from a different line of royalty can lay true claim to a throne without spilling the blood of the one who sat before. This is our tradition, the way of the Hunt.” Caleb pauses. “But the time of the Hunt is behind us. Three noble houses have laid claim to their thrones, and with myself as a mediator, we can leave the time of the Hunt in the past. I implore you, kings and princes alike, _seek peace_. There is no glory in bloodshed, no joy in slaughter, no honor in bloodlust. I implore you _: put the lives and the prosperity of your people before you_. Our past is tainted with the darkness of war—let our future glow with the purity of peace.” Geoff and Jack exchange nervous glances at the grave tone of voice in which Caleb speaks.

He musters up a more cheerful expression. “Go, now, my lords and ladies, my kings and queens. May the gods be with you in your travels and find you returning safely. Hail!” Caleb’s cry is echoed by the gathered crowd, and conversation picks up where he left off. As the organized divisions between kingdoms dissolve with the farewells between families, Caleb departs back inside the building.

He climbs the spiral staircase to the balcony overseeing the square, all the time deep in thought. He waves to the families departing for their home territories, noting with pleasure the clear skies. _The gods smile upon this ceremony_ , he thinks. _We have done well by them._ He watches Geoff bump fists with Ray and flick off Ryan when his father isn’t looking. Ray and Ryan laugh, but share a brief, gentle touch together, palm to palm. There is a sense of camaraderie and bitterness at parting that is practically tangible between the three.

The bonds between them are strong. Even the two outsiders that tagged along with the trio have done nothing but reinforce the closeness of the men. Caleb allows hope to flutter within his belly. _I wish you were here, Lindsay,_ he thinks. _I wish you could see how bright our future is. These men share a love greater than anything we ever hoped for. Perhaps, just perhaps, your Sight was wrong this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have written so far, and I intend for each chapter to be at least a 6000 word monster, so updates will come slowly, apologies.


	3. Chapter I: Take Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three become four, five become one, and a storm begins to brew in the South.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arc I: Rising Storm
> 
> (Everyone should be at their irl ages now, give or take a year.)  
> (Remember when I said these chapters were supposed to be 6000 words long? ha..hahah..hah... And this is a short one.)

  
**_\--6 Years Later--_**  
  
"But Micool, you promised!"  
  
"I didn't promise jack shit to you, Gavin, stop trying to use that as an argument."  
  
"Wot are you so scared of? It'll be fine!"  
  
"Oh yes, an inebriated dragon that uses magic to change his form into that of a human sitting right next to the Crown Prince. What could possibly go wrong?"  
  
"Micool, you make it sound so much worse than it is..."  
  
"No, I don't, shithead! If I lose control of my magic, or even my gods-damned breath I could destroy your prince! Why don't you see the problem here?"  
  
Gavin pouted and dropped back behind Mogar, who was stalking ahead at a furious pace, incited by Gavin's insistent demands. Honestly, Mogar only ever saw the worst possible scenario. The likelihood of him getting drunk enough to flame the general vicinity was minuscule. Gods, he had never lost himself around Gavin when they went out to get bevs. Why should he now, especially when he was older and more experienced?  
  
Gavin jogs to catch up with Mogar, and grabs his arm firmly. Mogar jerks to a halt and whips around to face Gavin, eyes aflame. He doesn't say anything, but Gavin is painfully aware that the next words out of his mouth may have him on the ground getting 'all the stupid punched out of him', as Mogar liked to put it. He tries to make his best puppydog eyes and reason with the dragon.  
  
"Micool, you've never once set flame to anyone. You're extremely reliable, and I trust you with my life. I would never ask anything of you that I believed may put you at risk of exposing yourself or harming a human being. You know that. It's just...you are important to me. And so are Geoff, Jack, Ray, and Ryan. They have been such an influence on me, and such important friends. But...but none of them know who you are. All they know is that you are some penpal of mine, and that is all you'll ever be if I don't introduce you. I want them to know you, like I know you."  
  
Michael's face has softened a little, and his posture is relaxing. Gavin knows he's won. He loosens his grip around Michael's arm. "You promised me," he murmurs softly, staring at the ground.  
  
There is a long pause before Michael exhales. Gavin watches his feet move closer, and then Michael rests his forehead against Gavin's. "I wish I could deny you anything, dear friend," he sighs. "Fine. I will meet your prince. But you must promise me that we not get too drunk. For my sake."  
  
Gavin grins victoriously, and grabs Mogar's arm again. "Of course, love, of course. Oh, but you will _love_ Geoff and Jack. They are wonderful and absolutely your kind of people."  
  
Mogar allows Gavin to drag him off towards the pub where they were to meet up with Geoff and Jack. "At the very least, I doubt they can be more annoying or dumb than you have proved to be."  
  
Gavin doesn't even flinch at this, but continues to plow on. He is far too thrilled to be bothered by petty insults. Mogar accepts this, and falls silent. They jog down the small dune they were walking across and onto the boardwalk at the beginning of the royal port.  
  
Mogar breathes in the fresh air of the North, wrinkling his sensitive nose a little at the unique smell. He hails from the mountains of the East, a place that smells like tall trees, smooth rock, and fresh soil dug up from glaciers carving valleys into the landscape. Gavin's home smells like sand and the sea, like rustling grasses and the wet timber of sailing ships.  
  
They pass by docks decorated with ships of all shapes and sizes roped to them. Merchants with accents and attire varied as the ships they sailed on pass the two by, trading and dealing. Gavin drags Mogar past rows of seafood shops and jewelry stores, past squid ink traders and crusty old fishermen that smell like their boats. Mogar follows Gavin closely, the latter weaving through the crowd like it's second nature to him, completely at home in an environment so alien to his companion.  
  
When they arrive at the pub, Mogar's head is spinning a little from all the sights and sounds and smells. Gavin notices and smiles, pausing before walking through the doors. "You'll be alright, yeah?"  
  
Michael shakes his head to clear his confusion and takes a deep breath. "Yes. I am alright now."  
  
Gavin chuckles and pushes the doors open, stepping inside with a reluctant Michael close behind.  
  
\------  
  
Jack wonders, not for the first time, which gods he pissed off to get himself stuck in this same situation, over and over again. Perhaps the gods of sobriety? No, such gods do not exist. The gods of responsibility and duty? Those could be the ones. Whichever gods he had angered, he fervently prayed for forgiveness. Dealing with a gradually more and more intoxicated Geoff whenever they went out for drinks was a cruel punishment.  
  
At least Jack usually had Gavin here for Geoff to direct his attention at. Dealing with two hammered royals might have seemed like a more difficult task, but as long as they were occupied with each other, they were generally pretty easy to herd around. They only got troublesome when they started to pay attention to the only sober one.  
  
Which was the situation Jack found himself trapped in with Gavin AWOL, spouting some bullshit reason why he couldn't go with them. Apparently he had to meet someone? Jack didn't really care; he just wanted his distractor back as soon as possible. Geoff had begun hanging nearly his full weight on him and singing loudly and off-key in his ear. Jack grimaced as Geoff tried to hit a high note and his voice cracked terribly.  
  
"I'm going to strangle Gavin when he next appears in front of me. I don't care if he's a minor royal. I don't care. He's going to die," Jack mutters under his breath.  
  
"What was'sat, Jack? Couldn't 'ear ya, speak up!" Geoff yells. Jack shoves him off his arm and back into his bar stool, glaring, while Geoff giggled like a little maid.  
  
Jack hears the sound of the pub's doors swinging open, and immediately straightens up to see who walked in. Oh, it's Gavin, thank the gods above. Jack slumps in relief and kicks Geoff to attention, missing the person following Gavin in, close as a shadow. "Helloooo, asshole? Get up, your drinking buddy is here, go harass him instead."  
  
Geoff does as he is told, looking around for Gavin. He spots the younger man fairly quickly, but stiffens upon seeing the man following Gavin. Jack, noting the tension in Geoff's body, follows his gaze, seeing the ginger for the first time. He's sticking close to Gavin almost like he's shy, but walks proud and strong, a scowl on his face. Jack leans back against the bar, curious.  
  
Gavin is bouncing in place by the time he reaches his two friends. "Guys! Guys! I'd like you to meet the guy I've been writing to, Michael Jones. He's in town for a while before heading back out." Jack nods, recognizing the name. Gavin had been babbling about his penpal for _years,_ it was about gods-damned time they actually met the man. He was smaller and angrier than Jack had expected. In truth, he had imagined a dumb, excitable-puppy type of person, similar to Gavin himself. This guy didn't look like the type who could stand someone like Gavin.  
  
"Gotta say, you don't look anything like what I would have imagined." Geoff verbalizes Jack's thoughts, looking contemplative and significantly more sober than a few minutes ago.  
  
Michael gives a sharp nod to Jack. "Jack Pattillo. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." When he turns to look at Geoff, however, Jack swears he can see a flash of recognition in the mysterious golden eyes of Gavin's friend, although he is sure that he and Geoff have never met.  
  
Michael gets down on one knee and pulls his sword out, digging it into the floor in front of him. He bows his head in a way far too respectful for meeting a mere prince for the first time. Gavin fidgets a little, nervously. His demonstration of respect is almost even too much for a _king_.  
  
"It is an honor to meet you, Prince Ramsey. My sword is ever at your service." Geoff laughs kindly at the sincerity in Michael's voice.  
  
"No need for such ceremony for a drunkard prince like me, friend Michael. Call me Geoff." He meets Michael's eyes, and the smaller man stands up and shakes Geoff's hand firmly. "Any person who can tolerate Gavin for as long as you have is a friend of mine."  
  
Jack nods. "Aye, well said. I hope Gavin hasn't brought too much grief upon you."  
  
Michael grins in response, shoulders settling back, relaxed. "He's been nothing but trouble since the time we first met. I am grateful that there are other witnesses to his stupidity among men. Speaking of which, I must tell you of the events by which we met--”  
  
"Micool!" Gavin screeches. "Don't tell them about that, you rotten creature! They'll never let me rest if they hear it!"  
  
"Oh in that case," Geoff orders with mock seriousness, "I'm afraid I must utilize my princely powers and order you to tell me the tale right away."  
  
Michael grins and takes the bar stool on Geoff's other side. "It's absolutely horrific, Your Grace, but if you insist..." Gavin makes an attempt to leap at Michael and cover his mouth, but Michael catches him easily and puts him in a tight headlock, relaying the events of their first encounter to Geoff over the screams of their mutual friend.  
  
One story builds into another, and before they realize it, Michael has successfully blended into the ranks of the three friends. He matches Jack in dumb stories about other people, Geoff in chugging alcohol, and Gavin in volume. Geoff and Jack are immediately drawn into the loud way in which Michael berates Gavin, but also the gentle way he builds up and cares for the youngest of their group. Under all the over-the-top rage, they see the kindly side to Michael, and take to him quickly.  
  
Geoff and Michael, probably the most interested in alcohol of the four hit off especially well. They exchange favorite liquors excitedly, and discuss the taverns with the best atmosphere across the Three Kingdoms and the Neutral Country. Michael's hands wave animatedly as he explains this or that, and Geoff is turned towards him with interest, adding his two cents every now and then. And even though he is not part of the intense conversation, Gavin is practically beaming, Jack notes. He moves from Geoff's side to Gavin's and grins at the cheerful blonde.  
  
"You are so pleased that we get along with him, aren't you?" He asks, fairly certain of the answer. Gavin returns his grin, a little bit tipsy, but only enough to make him happier than usual.  
  
"Caught me. You gents have actually gotten on with him better than I expected. Micool's got such a difficult personality, I actually thought you might brawl with him before playing nice," Gavin admits. Jack has to bark out a laugh.  
  
"Michael is a fiery lad, that's for sure. But his constant rage is more entertaining than frightening. Kind of reminds me of Jack Nicholson, when he was a pup and tried to growl at us." Gavin thinks fondly of the times when they tried to give Geoff's beloved but snarling spiderwolf a bath, miscalculating how tedious it would be to stuff an eight-legged lupine into a tiny tub of soapy water, especially when Jackie had eight eyes with which to watch them.  
  
"He's good to you," Jack notes, nudging Gavin's shoulder. Gavin snorts and rolls his eyes.  
  
"He beats the snot out of me whenever the opportunity makes itself available, and constantly reminds me of anything idiotic I've done since I met him. That one has a steel trap memory on him, he does," Gavin replies mournfully, but it is apparent to both of them that he doesn't mean it. Gavin looks at Michael with a special kind of fondness, a kind different from the fondness he shows Geoff or Jack. Michael is good for him, Jack thinks. Michael is different.  
  
Maybe it's something in the proud way he holds himself, or the way his voice booms across a small space, demanding he be heard. Maybe it's just the unusual red hair and sharp golden eyes that catch every movement around him that make Michael seem almost...regal. Jack knows it, and Geoff knows it, and probably even Gavin knows it—there’s something different about Michael.  
  
Of course, when he snorts beer up his nose and then howls in pain after doing so, he looks little more than a boy taking a dumb bet. Geoff cackles and tosses him two gold pieces, slapping his leg. The eldest is reduced to giggling when Michael comes up, pinching his nose and red in the face, but still trying to maintain his dignity.  
  
"Gods damn you! That fucking hurt! Not worth two _fucking_ pieces of gold, that's for certain," Michael snarls, shaking his head to clear it.  
  
Geoff snickers. "Oh stop whining, ya whelp. I'm not th' one who took the stupid fucking bet, that was all on you. Ya think I haven't learned my lesson in all my years, not t' snort the beer but drink it like a sane human being? You're an _idiot._ I like that."  
  
Michael permits himself one last grumble before turning back to the bar. He's damned set on making use of that bet money. "Two whiskeys for a tortured soul, thank you kindly."  
  
"Make it three!"  
  
Gavin chooses that moment to leap back into the conversation quite literally. He's up out of his seat and wrapping his arms around Michael's shoulders while holding up three fingers to the bartender. Michael growls.  
  
"I'm not gonna pay for your gods-damned drink, if that's what you're thinking. You're no lady to be wooed, and I literally just earned that money through pain and suffering, idiot."  
  
"Aw, but Micool..." Gavin whines in his ear. Michael lifts a shoulder and bats away the sandy blonde.  
  
"Be gone with you! Pay for your own drink, you thrice-damned aristocrat." Jack nods in appreciation. About time they make the rich ones pay their own way. But Gavin is nothing if not persistent. He wheedles and whines, wearing down Michael's resolve until the man swats once more at Gavin and gives. "Fine, fine, just the one! Bastard..."  
  
Gavin settles back down, though he is still vibrating excitedly. Michael's probably gonna pump him full of alcohol just to get him to pipe down, Jack thinks. It's apparent these two have been at this before, as Michael begrudgingly orders another, different drink for Gavin without consulting him, despite his earlier claim that he would do nothing of the kind.  
  
It's a good thing that Gavin has found himself another close friend, Jack thinks. He's a bit ashamed to admit it, but he and Geoff have not been giving Gavin the time of day like they used to. Originally, upon returning to the North after living for so long in the Neutral Country, the three stuck together simply because they were familiar with each other and nothing else. Even Geoff, the only one of the trio who had actually grown up in the North, couldn't orient himself in the very country he was destined to rule. In short, they had to relearn their surroundings before feeling confident enough to wander around on their own.  
  
For Jack, acclimatizing to the new territory was not as difficult. Unlike Gavin and Geoff, he had to leave his home every day in order to attend the academy that the Ramsey's were paying for. Jack always made sure to arrive on time and try his hardest—he was indebted to the Ramsey's, and wanted to make them proud. Of course, he was not the only one getting an education in engineering and architecture. Other men and women, most younger than him, were classmates of his, and Jack found companionship among them. He was the first to leave the safety of the group of three.  
  
Not to mention the incredible trips arranged by the academy. Jack and his classmates often found themselves on tours of different territories, studying the varying types of architecture through the years—how it improved, why particular designs were used, how the structure met the needs of the environment in which the people lived. They even got the change to visit a small village in the Realm of the Mountain Gods, east of the Neutral Country. That was a real treat. Very few people had been allowed into the so-called Kingdom of the East—ever since the Haywood's broke ties with the royal family of the East they had dropped off the political and social map, closing their borders to all but a few small groups of fur traders, trackers, and miners that built sleepy little villages between the rise of the Eastern Mountains. The mountainous terrain didn't provide much for the people living there, and most of them relied on trade amongst the villages for supplies. The standard of living may have been abysmally low for the colonists, and not particularly comfortable for visitors (Jack and his two of his mates _still_ found fleas in their clothes every now and then), but visiting the closed-off country was an experience nonetheless.  
  
But where Jack had his stories of the different houses and buildings he would be designing and building, Geoff also gradually brought more stories of his own to the table. The eldest of the trio lived for the purpose of preparing for the crown—whether he liked it or not. Geoff had to be educated in princely manner by his mother and dueling by his father (the hired teachers had taught them some manners in the Neutral Country, but they were quick to unlearn them; and the fancy dueling had never appealed to any of their posse—they preferred the gritty, honor-less savagery of brawling and battle). At first, all Geoff could do was moan about how miserable his life as crown prince was every night—lamenting the loss of Caleb's tedious history lessons, of all things.  
  
But after all, Geoff had to grow up eventually, more so than Gavin or Jack. When the man put his head down and powered through the lessons, for a moment, even his closest friends forgot the drunken moron their dear friend could be. Geoff had always had this way with words—coupled with princely manner and applied to a fancy ball, Geoff maintained an air of sophistication and eloquence that his own father struggled to match. Of course, afterwards Geoff had condemned the entire charade as a waste of his time and fucking pointless, but he had earned just a little more respect from his friends, whether he wanted it or not.  
  
Perhaps Geoff would have stayed in that fissure, shifting from proper son of a king to wayward man-child and back for the rest of his life, had his father not seen the light and given Geoff what he desired above all else: adventure and battle. Having demonstrated at least some ability to hold up a facade of regality, King Ramsey finally caved and began taking Geoff on missions outside the castle walls, just to keep him from getting into trouble. In the beginning, it was just a few missions here or there. But then Geoff was gone all the time. He didn't just leave with his father—he left with the castle guard, the messengers, the royal escorts, even launched a few missions of his own. Gavin and Jack went from seeing Geoff nearly every day to waiting weeks, even months, before he returned, and then he would only stay for a handful of days to catch up, resupply, and receive his next mission.  
  
The two left behind couldn't fault him for fleeing the castle, though. Kingsport was a bustling city, the capital of the Kingdom of the North, but one could grow tired of the business of markets and smell of fish. And Geoff had already memorized the names of every street, way, and avenue for his mother. The allure of other lands, both within and outside of his Kingdom, called to Geoff. Whenever he returned to his friends, he spoke excitedly, eyes dancing as he recalled the mysterious landscapes he had encountered, the terrible beasts he had slain, the dangers he had faced, and of course, the people he had met.  
  
Ah, the people Geoff met. Not so much multiple "people", as a single "person" he kept going back to. The North was a flatland—King Ramsey presided over deserts in the east, plains in south and west, shoreline and waterways along the northern edge, and swamp to the southwest. Under King Ramsey, Tribes that had existed in those territories since before even the Hunt had signed treaties with the King; they kept their autonomy and brought order to the area, but like bannermen, would answer to the King if called to arms. It was in the Plains Tribe of Connell that Geoff found _her._ The one.  
  
The way Geoff tells the story, he makes it sound like they had met by an accident of fate. An intervention by the gods, of sorts. But with a sharp laugh and a derisive pat to his cheek, she had sat down backwards on a chair and told Jack and Gavin exactly how they met. And the truth was much less glorious than Geoff made it sound.  
  
Geoff had trespassed (unknowingly, of course), into the small, sacred wood of the Plains Tribe—the only wood on the entirety of the Northern Plains. Separated from his party and dumb as an infant wandering into a lion's den, Geoff had led Mystery to leap over a small fallen log—startling the woman hiding behind it. Faster than Geoff could track, she knocked him off Mystery with a single, well placed swing of her bow. He fell hard and into a puddle, only able to stare up at her dumbly as she pointed a drawn arrow at his skull. Geoff didn't know it at the time, but he had just interrupted the age-old ritual of rising from maidenhood to womanhood of the Plains Tribe's Chieftain's daughter—Griffon of Connell.  
  
Geoff had shushed Griffon at that part in the story, taking over where she had left off. He told his friends that looking up on this fierce warrior, glaring down at him with the pitiless, merciless eyes of a trained hunter and soldier, he knew that she would kill him in an instant, regardless of his status or what the repercussions of such actions might be. He had interrupted this goddess of the hunt when she was in her element, skin tan and tattooed to help her blend in with the dappled light and textures of grassland rippling in the breeze, and she would kill this worm beneath her if she saw fit. Geoff might have actually died that day, but Griffon took pity on him, easing her bow down and turning instead to his frightened horse. And upon realizing how little he meant to her, how simply she could turn her back without feeling threatened, Geoff fell ass-backwards in love with her.  
  
So did Mystery, to Geoff's eternal irritation. Griffon had spoken softly, smoothly, in Plainspeak, the tongue of her people, and Mystery had calmed. Mystery, who was skittish around anyone else but Geoff and was the most difficult horse any of the stable hands had to deal with. Geoff hated her a little for being able to call his horse to her side, but when she shot him a challenging smirk, all was forgiven. When she returned from the ritual hunt, riding Mystery bareback and with Geoff stumbling and holding all his riding gear beside her, Geoff learned of his ultimate humiliation: for her ritual to be completed, Griffon had to bring back the first creature she set eyes on alive, and her fate would be determined by what the creature she returned with was.  
  
So it was by starlight that the healer and spiritual leader of the Plains Tribe, not so different from the healers of the commonfolk, determined the fate of one Griffon of Connell and Geoffrey of House Ramsey under the watchful and amused gazes of Griffon's mother, the Chieftain, and King Ramsey himself. The two were engaged under the cloudless night sky, blessed by the gods above. And Griffon, gorgeous and untouchable in her traditional garb, whispered vows into Geoff's palms as she kissed them, and he wished with every fiber of his being that he could understand the words that turned up her lips in a soft smile.  
  
Geoff had spent the next several months commuting between Kingsport and the Plains Tribe; when he was at home he talked feverishly of how his fiancée was driving him up the wall, was better than him at _everything,_ and refused to speak the Common Tongue until he had learned every dialect of her people backwards and forwards, but when he was with her, time melted away in the openness of the Plains and he loved Griffon more than she loved the empty sky and endless gold of her territory, her home. Geoff called her "my warrior", and she, she called him "l'thau monc" in Plainspeak, which Geoff found out later (much to his horror), translates to "idiot mine" in the Common Tongue.  
  
They were married there, in that open space, with only the immediate family of both Geoff and Griffon--Gavin, Jack, Ray, and Ryan were not invited at all (although Caleb attended, as is required of the Head Healer). But even with the marriage ceremony over, and Griffon spending time in Kingsport, demonstrating that she could speak the Common Tongue as well as any of the commonfolk, Geoff still remained away.  
  
"His spirit is even less docile than mine," Griffon sighed fondly to Jack one day. "To stay in one place for a length of time is to cage himself; he will wander to the ends of the earth, before he dies, to the Realm of the Gods and back—twice."  
  
Gavin had no forum by which to adapt. He had no connections within Kingsport—and his family remained living in the Neutral Country. Although Geoff originally intended to take Gavin on as a squire, his father forbade it until Geoff could become a proper prince. Gavin didn't take it personally that Geoff forgot about his promise, even after getting married and proving just how proper he is. Gavin moved on, in a way, although at the time Jack's mind hadn't been on Gavin at all.  
  
It's common knowledge that Gavin writes to people. With no link to Kingsport aside from his two friends, Gavin relied on letter writing to occupy his time. He wrote to Ryan and Ray at first (although Ryan didn't write back, ever; in fact, they have had no contact with him following their parting). Ray did reply—his letters were enthusiastic and bright, like Ray always is, and Geoff and Jack were happy to sit down and listen to Gavin read Ray's letters in the evening, cups of coffee keeping them warm. Gavin even started spending time with Griffon, who took to him like a son. But then Gavin started talking about...another.  
  
Those letters he did not read aloud—actually, the few times Geoff or Jack even attempted to make a grab for those letters, Gavin shrieked and got this wild look in his eyes. They are precious to him, and so is the person he writes to. This "Michael Jones"...a mysterious figure that makes Gavin trip over his words in a rush to speak about him, makes him rush to the post every other week, makes him curl unmoving--even with the temptation of his favorite tea, imported all the way from the South—until he has devoured every word written by this man, thrice over. Michael Jones is the best thing that could have happened to Gavin.  
  
As Jack drifts back into the conversation at the bar, he smiles warmly at his makeshift family. Gavin has crashed, head buried in his crossed arms on the bar, leaning into Michael, surrounded by the empty glasses of three more drinks he apparently dragged out of the ginger, but is sporting a bruise on his forearm that will not be enjoyable to deal with when he wakes. Michael himself is leaning on the bar, looking like he's edging closer to sleep, but still maintaining a conversation with Geoff, Gavin squeezed between them. Geoff's murmuring about kids, and they're both speaking lowly to avoid waking Gavin—which is silly when you consider the raucous chatter of other drunken patrons—but the sentiment is still there. Geoff talks about how Griffon wants a little girl more than anything in the world, wants to teach her how to hold a sword steady and ride a horse quicker than the wind, while Geoff wants to buy her the finest silks and sneak her cakes and cookies when her mom isn't watching. Michael is smiling at this and humming in agreement, dragging his fingers through Gavin's hair and making the blonde unconsciously lean further into him, yes, oh aren't little princesses just to die for? We've been throwing names around; Griffon wants Millie—means "little stream" in Plainspeak—and it's just to die for, but she'll be Queen one day and she needs a royal title... Oh, so just keep it as a nickname, bestow a royal name upon her at birth, call her by Millie... Yes, yes, we were thinking of how Millicent sounds so regal and strong, perhaps we'll name her that...  
  
Jack swirls his ale around a few more times and leans back against the bar, closing his eyes.  
  
They'll be alright, now, won't they.  
  
\-------  
  
"Owwww," Gavin grumbles, prodding the now purplish bruise on his right arm. "Didn't have to hit me so hard now, did you?"  
  
Michael guides the still half-asleep Gavin out by his elbows, chest leaning into his back. He smiles into Gavin's unruly mop of hair, feeling placid as a lake on a windless day with just enough good alcohol and company in his system. "Hush, dear," he murmurs, only half sarcastically. "Just a love tap, as you always like to call it. Come now, let's get you to bed." Although Michael is pretty sure they won't make it back to the castle with the way Gavin's yawning and blinking sleepily. Even now, it's mostly Michael's inhuman strength that's holding them both upright. He sets his eyes on an inn, fairly close to the bar--one that's probably used to receiving slightly inebriated guests, but also one fancy enough that this witless dope won't get mugged when he's too senseless to defend himself.  
  
Michael practically drags Gavin through the door and into the reception area. He drops a few silvers on the reception desk and asks politely for the nicest available room, making sure to add a charming smile on top. He girl at the desk flushes slightly, but goes about her business with a professionalism Michael admires. He's overpaid her, even for the best room, but refuses the change with a small shake of the head. Let her keep it. He has bigger problems to deal with.  
  
Realizing that there's no chance of Gavin climbing up two flights of stairs, Michael scoops him up delicately, and prays to every god that will listen that people don't find this too unbelievable. Lucky for Michael, the only conscious humans around are a man struggling to get out of his jacket and the receptionist, who watches him with wide eyes but won't say a word, especially with a tip like that. Gavin's already breathing deeply when Michael starts up the stairs.  
  
He unlocks the door with ease—shifting to hold Gavin up with one arm and opening the door with the other. He flicks on a light with the wave of a finger; it's risky to use magic in a populated area like this, but Michael's pretty sure no one is paying attention, and he'll be long gone in a few minutes anyway. He places Gavin gently on the bed, noting with a quick glance around the room that it really is a nice little space. He drops the key on the provided side table. There is only one last task to be done.  
  
Michael turns to wake up Gavin, but is surprised to find the man sitting up and looking him over in wonder. "You held me in one arm," he whispers incredulously. "You used _magic_."  
  
Michael worries in vain for a split second that Gavin will break ties with him right then and there, that seeing magic performed is the final straw against the weirdness that is Michael, and he's no longer interesting enough to risk associating with. But he needn't have worried. Gavin's eyes are wide with an unspoken 'teach me?', and Michael wonders for a moment at how he was blessed with such a lovely idiot as this one. He closes the door and locks it with two flicks of his wrist, just to show off a little for Gavin. It's embarrassing how fond he is of the man.  
  
"I _am_ a dragon," he reminds Gavin, grinning slightly. Gavin looks like he wants to ask more, but Michael shushes him.  
  
"I have something for you," he says, taking off the pack he's been carrying all day. Gavin looks a bit more alert now, especially when the objects removed shine in the low light of the lamp.  
  
"Oh!" He gasps. "They're boots!"  
  
Michael nods and hands him the pair of boots. Gavin make a small noise of surprise. "They're kinda _heavy_." He rubs a finger along the shiny surface of one and his eyes widen further. "This...is this… _gold_ , Micool?"  
  
Michael nods and speaks before Gavin can sputter out an answer. "I had my mentor put a special enchantment on that gold. When you wear them, no human will be able to tell, but they will give off a kind of aura. It's protection against dragons. They will not attack you when you wear them." Gavin gapes at him.  
  
"So-so they _are_ coated in gold?"  
  
Michael rolls his eyes. "Yes, fuckwad, they have a thick layer of gold along the outside of the leather. Don't be so surprised that dragons are loaded. Also, they're bound to be pretty heavy, so don't wear them all the time unless you want to trip and fall on your nose."  
  
Gavin hugs them to his chest and smiles at Michael. "Thanks, Micool. I'm gonna wear them all the time, even if they are heavy! ...but what brought on this worry about other dragons?"  
  
Ah. Here it goes. Michael shifts in place nervously. "Well. I mean, it's not like you're never going to meet any other dragons. What if another one happens to follow me? Or if Geoff drags you guys into a mess and you need to not get cremated by dragon fire? Or...if...well, it's not like you won't ever visit _me_ , now, is it?"  
  
Gavin gasps a little at the last part, immediately picking up on Michael's true purpose behind the gift. "You're inviting me to your place?" Michael tries to measure the emotion in his voice and fails.  
  
"Umm...yeah, I guess? It's not like I don't like your human stuff bu--"  
  
Gavin places the boots on the bed and wraps his arms around Michael's middle in one surprisingly fluid motion. Michael exhales a little in relief, the faintest curl of smoke furling from between his lips. Fuck, was he really that worried Gavin would say no? He must have drunk just a little too little tonight, what were his nerves doing.  
  
Gavin lets him go, eyes sparkling. "Oh Micool, I want to meet your entire clan! Even...the dumb ones..." He yawns in the middle of his sentence and Michael remembers that it's actually pretty late. He puts the boots on the ground and presses the sandy blonde down into his bed.  
  
"Go the fuck to sleep, you idiot, we can talk about this later." Michael turns to leave, having accomplished all he meant to tonight, but is stopped by a pull on his coat. Gavin's sitting up again, eyes bleary and confused, gods above and around, won't he just sleep?  
  
"You're leaving tonight, Micool?" He asks in a small, tired voice with just the edge of a whine.  
  
Michael sighs and nods. "Yeah, I was just gonna stay for a few hours, but I had such a great time that I stayed longer than I meant to." He expects that to console his friend, but Gavin just looks more confused.  
  
"So why are you leaving so soon? Geoff isn't going anywhere for another week...Jack has a holiday from his classes...even Griffon's in town. You haven't met Griffon," the whine is more prominent in his voice now. "Micool, don't leave just yet."  
  
Michael sighs and shakes his head. He'd love to blow off clan business and hang out with Gavin and the guys—who are _absolutely_ cool, he wouldn't lie about that—but he just _can’t._  
  
"I had so much fun tonight, Gavvers," he murmurs. "And I would really love to spend time with the guys—dead serious, they are a great group and loads of trouble, but clan business is clan business, you know I can't stay long." He turns once more to go.  
  
"Mogar, stay with me."  
  
Michael's heart rate skyrockets at the use of his real name. But not out of fear--not at all. He turns slowly to see Gavin, still with one hand tugging at his coat, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, swaying back and forth a little because he's just so damn _tired_.  
  
 _"Mogar, stay with me."_  
  
Those four words do things they really shouldn't to Mogar, and he feels his resolve slip away from him before he can even think to scrabble for it. He hopes and prays that Gavin doesn't notice how his cheeks are awful flushed too, and how he's frozen solid seeing his best friend so vulnerable, _begging_ him _stay with me, stay with me_.  
  
"There's only room for one on your bed," Mogar chokes out, and then kicks himself because _Gavin asked you to stay another day, not for you to sleep with him._  
  
Gavin doesn't even seem to understand the implications of what's currently going down, because he looks around the room for another place for Mogar to stay and comes up empty. He looks so utterly crushed that Mogar immediately caves with a rush of warm affection soothing over any awkward feelings smoldering in his gut. _There will be time for those, later._  
  
"Oh come now, you sad excuse for a human being. Fine, I'll stay another day or so, stop that lip-wobbling. I've slept on worse than a wood floor." And it is true—only usually Michael has scales stronger than any metal to protect him from whatever uncomfortable surface he sleeps on. He lays his coat on the floor beside Gavin's bed and curls himself up like a cat, similar to how he would at home. The human body isn't built for sleeping like this, really, but it's not like he can transform in this tiny room. He accepts his fate with a self-pitying sigh and a glance to see that Gavin has already fallen into a contented slumber, trusting his best friend to keep his word.  
  
Really, it's worrying how far he'd go to please this boy.  
  
\----  
  
The wind picked up as Ray walked through the gardens, the sound of rustling leaves hiding his already muffled footsteps. He looked up and studied the clouds. No rain today, although the heavy grey clouds sparked every now and then with high-altitude lightning. Just a dreary day among the countless dreary days to come as summer blended into fall. He wouldn't have to ride today, then. No point in training him if it wasn't going to be unpleasant outside, that was his father's philosophy.  
  
Ray's feet carried him down the twists and turns of rows and columns of their own accord. He didn't need to think in order to guide himself to the roses. The roses had been planted neatly in the center of the gardens, so that it never took Ray long to reach them. He fingered the petal of a particularly bright one, noting the firmness of the petal and how well it matched his cloak. A pity that these flowers would die come autumn time. But his mother hated roses and wouldn't hear of them in the greenhouse—the only reason the gardens had roses at all was because Ray had insisted upon it and refused to train until he had the sworn oath of his father that they would be bought and cared for, tenderly.  
  
The wind blew by again in another gust, and Ray shivered at the biting edge of cold it carried. Southern winds. In full-blown spring and summer, the eternally cool breezes were a breath of fresh air and welcomed with open arms, but in the dying heat of the last few weeks of summer, the cold snarled and sank its fangs deep into Ray's insides, past layers of lightweight armor and skin and bone. These winds heralded a winter even colder than the unbearable freeze of last year.  
  
The winds of the South were never warm.  
  
The letter grasped tightly in Ray's other hand fluttered, and he gripped it even tighter. _To Ray Narvaez, Jr.,_ it read, _at Burnston Keep of the Kingdom of the West._ A letter from Gavin. It burned hotter than a coal in Ray's hand, but he tried his best to ignore the pang of guilt this letter brought with it.  
  
Ray picked the rose he was touching with a sharp yank at its stem, the flower coming away reluctantly. He breathed in the scent of life this flower held, and for a moment he could even believe that he was not at his father's dungeon of a castle, that maybe he was tearing through the forest on Dirk Dirk, or meandering from town to town covered in a long hood, or even back at his _real_ home, at Achievement City...  
  
The slightest pricks of pain dragged Ray out of his reverie. He looked down only to find his hand coated in blood, several thorns embedded in his palm. He opens his hand, sticky blood already beginning to congeal on the stem and leaves of the rose. He tucks the letter into his scroll bag with one hand, before turning to his injury. Delicately, he pulls each individual thorn out of his palm, making sure not to tear the thorns from the stem of the rose. It's not the rose's fault after all. No need to ruin the beauty of a flower that so bravely defends itself.  
  
Ray should probably wrap his hand, but the thought of returning to the inside of the castle before he is caught outside makes his stomach churn. Surely, it can only be minutes before his mother finds him, wandering loose outside against her orders, and scolds him. Right now, free from the overbearing control of his parents, Ray can only imagine how easy it would be to hop over the garden fence, race to the stables, dig up the supplies he buried for an emergency, mount Dirk Dirk, and ride away, away.  
  
But where would he go? Who would take him in? Not Caleb, he would hand Ray right back to his father, by code of law. Not Gavin, Ray hadn't written back in so, so long. And surely Jack and Geoff had forgotten about him by now... If he tried for Ryan, well. That's just what his parents wanted, now, wasn't it.  
  
As if on cue, a guard in all black with red lining on his uniform appears from the archway leading to the gardens, and calls to Ray. "Your Grace, Queen Narvaez orders you to return to within the walls of the Keep. She sternly requests you report to her private chambers immediately."  
  
Any feeling of peace or self-pity vanishes from Ray like smoke blown apart by these Southern winds. His face hardens into the cold and unfeeling animal his parents want him to be. (He can't help it--it's all just training.) Ray banishes the thoughts of his past to the far corners of his mind, seals the memories in the darkness that only he can drag them out of. He stills completely, before whipping around like a cat and stalking back to the castle, feet barely touching the ground, invincible. The rose falls into the dirt.  
  
The guard opens his mouth to say something else, probably something snappy or rude, but Ray is embarrassingly quicker than his mother's little pawn. His left-hand rapier is drawn from his belt and drawn through the mouth of the guard before even the first syllable is out. Ray's twin rapiers are thin, but they were forged to be incredibly strong, and it slices through skin, muscle, and bone easy as air, effectively halving the guard's head. His whispered _"Shut up"_ is heard by no one. There is an initial spurt of blood as the guard crumples, but then the gaping hole spews blood in a steady stream, like a punctured barrel of spirits.  
  
Ray regards the fallen man with a slight curl of his lip. He steps around the puddle of blood forming and checks his attire for any splatter of blood. Disgusting. The badge that marks this man as one of his mother's dogs has flown from his chest and landed a little ways away, half coated in blood. Ray walks over to the badge, an orchid with two swords crossed behind it, and smashes it neatly with the heel of his boot. He wipes off the heel on the stone step leading into the garden and sneers, making sure to remove any impurities from it.  
  
He turns with a whirl of his cloak, a flash of red and violence, snarling behind him, "Do not deign to speak to your Crown Prince when your blood is the color of cheap wine and fit only for crows to feed on."  
  
\-----  
  
Ray does not speak again on the entire way to his private chambers. Servants scuttle out of his way without meeting his eyes, and the patrols march in time just a little bit faster when their prince comes wheeling by, a hurricane in black and red. There's something about a drawn sword dripping with fresh blood that sends the commonfolk running. "Killed again," they whisper. "Fourth guard this week. Wherever he goes, a trail of blood follows. Don't walk in the shadow of the Rose Prince, you'll be cursed." Ray does not pause for their whispered warnings—the better if they fear him, they mean nothing to him.  
  
Up the spiral staircase, across the hall with paintings of his ancestors, their eyes following him, staring at him, _disappointment freak cursed murderer murderer **murderer**_. He does not look at them. He never has. Once more, up the marble steps and into his chambers—close the door, lock it fast. It is only once he is safely barricaded into this cage that Ray finds he can breathe again. His shoulders slump and he drags his free hand down his face. Ah. That's right, he still need to wrap this hand.  
  
He places his left-hand rapier in the roaring hearth to burn off the blood, then sets about bandaging himself. His wrap is good, but not excellent, and Ray feels a pang of longing for Caleb's healer's touch. The Narvaez family has a healer of course—but she doesn't have the same almost wise warmth that Caleb has. Ray banishes those thoughts as quickly as they come; he has a job to do.  
  
From his scroll bag, Ray pulls out the letter from Gavin. It's in a nice, clean envelope, and Ray can tell just from looking at it that it will smell of sand and heat and freedom. He can guess what's inside it. A three or four page letter from Gavin, telling him what the three have been up to, oh how are you, have you heard from Ryan, I miss hearing from you, is everything alright?  
  
Ray swallows, his throat tightening. It's not that he doesn't want to hear from Gavin or doesn't want to write back. There're a few messengers that will deliver in secrecy for the right price, no matter the danger. But Ray can't do it. Not anymore. Keeping up this line of communication will just make the inevitable, bitter end so much more difficult than it has to be.  
  
He tosses the letter into the hearth, finally, with a heavy heart. The fire devours the letter and any regret Ray feels burns up with it. He turns back to his bed, to the mess that is strewn across it. Gavin's letters, open, read many times with folds permanently creasing the paper from use. There are so, so many, but it's time to let go. Ray tosses each one individually into the flames, and with them goes a tiny piece of his soul. Of his humanity.  
  
This will make it easier, for the both of us, he thinks.  
  
\-----  
  
Somehow, the biting cold that eternally pervades Sorlo is even fiercer than Lindsay remembers. No, that's not quite right. The cold isn't so much fierce as it is patient. Creeping. There's an unspoken edge to the stagnant air, a sense of uneasiness in every puff of Lindsay's breath as she approaches the throne room. The Haywood's had gone about making the South more hospitable for the past few reigns, if she recalled right (and she always did). So why was this cold so much more prevalent?  
  
She was struck again by just how large the doors were to the throne room. The black granite castle had been built far before the Haywood family came into power, and on such a large scale—even a full-grown dragon could walk through these doors comfortably. She raised one tiny fist to knock, but before she could touch the wood, a deep voice boomed out to her.  
  
"Come in, Lady Tuggey."  
  
Ah, well, she shouldn't be too surprised. This man was more vigilant than she had given him credit for, it was not a wonder he was expecting her. She gave the doors a solid push and they opened slowly, the sound of mechanics working in the background to move such awesome wooden panels. She stepped onto the indigo carpet, and curtsied respectfully to her host.  
  
"Rise, good Lady, we may speak as equals here." She straightened up to face the smiling countenance of Ryan Haywood, seated on his father's throne. A single skylight rained light upon the throne, a contrast against the black granite and shaped blue ice that never melted in here, even in summer. The throne room itself was enormous—she suspected an entire army could fit inside. Many times over they had held Three Kingdom-wide balls and food-tasting festivals, in this very throne room. But now, empty except for the two of them, and cold as an ice field, the room seemed ominous. Haunting.  
  
Ryan was sprawled across the throne, leaning back comfortably, the Crown of the South perched lopsided on his head. Above him, a black and indigo banner with the sigil of a cow skull hung. His eyes were closed, and his face projected a friendly demeanor, but Lindsay felt a great power beneath the cordial disguise. Ryan's laid back position did nothing but enhance the aura of danger and strength he gave off in waves. He looked like a king. Curious.  
  
Ryan straightened up suddenly, and beckoned Lindsay to him. She acquiesces as he begins to speak. "Awful careless of my father, leaving his crown here, unattended. Any of the commonfolk might get to thinking they can get a good price for an item like this." Ryan removes the crown and twirls it around his fingers, carelessly. "He ought, to be more careful, my father. Someone might come along and snatch his throne, if he doesn't watch himself."  
  
There was no cruelty in his eyes, no plotting. Just the genuine supposition of a concerned son. Lindsay knew better. The look on her face told Ryan that.  
  
He leaned forward, looking her dead in the eyes. "Six years ago, I rode home with my family from the Neutral Country, a place I called home for a significant duration of my life. Along the way, we rode through a silent wood—one near the border between the South and the East. Tired as I was, I stopped paying attention to the trail and my surroundings, and led my horse away from the escort. By the time I had returned my attention to the path, my family was long gone." Ryan stood up, crossed his hands behind his back.  
  
"Now, I could have simply called for them, as I would have in any other situation. But there's something about silent woods—you travel through them quickly and quietly, keeping your eyes fixed to the road and nowhere else. There's always this...feeling...that something's watching you. I feared not for spiders, nor the undead, nor wolves. Not even Creepers would wander into the silent woods. Regardless, I had with me my broadsword and my bow and quiver. No, that was not what made my horse shake and me freeze with fear. It was something _else_."  
  
His eyes bore holes into Lindsay's, and it's then that she knows. She knows, and she has underestimated Ryan once again. The man begins to pace a little. "I pushed my horse to move faster, but of course, he was as terrified as I. Almost, I had decided to risk my life and call out for the rest of my party when it appeared. I saw an Enderman."  
  
He whips around to pace the other way. "It was not, as the legends and old nursemaid tales say, imposing and grotesque. Rather, it was blood-chillingly terrifying, limbs stretching longer than tree branches, hunched over and skinny, melting in with the snow-coated wood. And of course, the _eyes_ on it. Bright purple, hued with magic, and fixed on mine. It spied me and made a churring noise, which was enough to break my panic."  
  
He turns the other way. "It was heavily injured, bleeding from many open wounds, blood a deep purple that pooled out onto the snow and then melted into the ground, quick as it fell. It attacked me out of confusion, I suspect, instead of disappearing like they are said to do when approached. It was only because of the many gaping wounds that I believe I was able to slay the beast. I managed to dismount my horse, frozen in fear, and drive my sword through its head when it launched itself at me."  
  
He stopped pacing and walked down the steps to stand right in front of Lindsay. "When it died, it crumbled into ash that was swept away by the wind, but left behind something incredible. I had never seen an Ender Pearl in my life, but the swirling blues and greens, the heavy weight and even heavier aura told me what I needed to know: it was magical."  
  
"Magic is forbidden to use," Lindsay replies calmly.  
  
"Then what do you carry around your waist, milady, and why does it smell like the acrid scent of magic?" Ryan hisses in return, and Lindsay's hand flies to her concealed belt.  
  
Turning his back, he murmurs, “I was hopelessly fascinated by the Ender Pearl. I could not use the magic hidden within it, and breaking such a valuable item was out of the question. After I returned home safely on my own—much to the surprise of my grieving parents—I began to hunt Endermen. Every time I ventured out, I pushed closer to the Eastern border, farther into the silent woods. Some I kept alive, to skin for their hide, but most I slew for their pearls. My horse gradually lost its fear of the night walkers, as did I. My parents became concerned, but I was obsessed with collecting these pearls, figuring out their secrets. But I never did."  
  
He turned once again to Lindsay. "So why are you here, Lady Tuggey? If magic is so forbidden to us humans, then why does a witch like you exist? Have the people not found you and burned you already? How could you have survived for so long?"  
  
Lindsay smiles, genuinely. Ryan was dangerous, and he was most certainly power-hungry, but there was also an irresistible edge of scientific curiosity about him that draws her in. He truly wants to know the secret of the Ender Pearls. He truly wants to _learn_. She extends a graceful hand, lifting a section of draping fabric on her dress to reveal a belt lined with unused Ender Pearls.  
  
"Would you like to find out, Ryan Haywood?" She asks quietly, wisdom apparent in her voice. "Would you like to learn about how a witch like me lives, how I have survived since even before the first Haywood took the throne? Come, I will teach you about magic."  
  
Ryan matches her smile and takes her hand gently, kissing the top of it with respect. "I want to know all you know, Lindsay Tuggey," he murmurs, and steps close to her.  
  
Lindsay loops Ryan's arms around her back and pulls a single Ender Pearl from her belt. Leaning in close to his chest, she whispers into the Pearl words he cannot hope to understand just yet. And with a swirl of light encapsulating the two, they disappear from the throne room, leaving only the sharp scent of used magic hanging in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: my muse feeds on comments, reviews, and any kind of emotional reaction experienced after reading my fic.


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